


throw all your hells towards the heavens

by maidenstar



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Also Nicole Is The Dashing Hero Merc We Need, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - The Mummy Fusion, F/F, Lots Of Tent Snuggles, Minor Injuries, Nicole Corresponds To Rick, Slow Burn, This Is So Dumb Pls, This Is Totally The Mummy/Mummy Returns AU Nobody Needs, Very Minor Violence (Genre Appropriate), Waverly Corresponds To Evy (Obviously), Wynonna Corresponds To Jonathan (Also Obviously), very minor horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-02-28 21:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 125,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13280580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidenstar/pseuds/maidenstar
Summary: 'This makes Nicole grin that typical, lopsided grin of hers.“So you believe in curses – ” Nicole begins, one eyebrow raised in a playful challenge.“Might,” Waverly amends. “I might believe in curses.”“So youmightbelieve in curses, but you’re absolutely certain that the infamous ‘City of the Dead’,” she adds in the quotation marks, using her fingers and a fair amount of feeling, “couldn’t possibly be guarded by the curse of a really angry mummy?”'[Or, theThe Mummy/The Mummy Returns AUyou absolutely didn’t ask for, but I’ve written anyway. Also known as: scholar/archaeologist!Waverly meets gunfighter!Nicole for a desert adventure and supernatural curse of a totally different kind (so you don't need to have seen the films). Featuring large bugs, gunfights, and one too many Harry Potter references for Wynonna's liking. Oh, and most of the team pops up along the way too.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> guess who’s back? back again. guess who’s back, guess who's back, guess who's back with more (kind of) history-based aus because they say you should write what you know and i really don’t know anything else. 
> 
> i definitely originally wrote this as a passion project because i've always wanted to write a mummy au given that it's my all-time favourite film (as is the mummy returns - we don't talk about any other mummy films) and wynonna earp really lends itself to the crossover imo. (i mean, it's really no big leap to see why i enjoy the two - comedic adventure narrative about curse/demon/undead creature hunting badasses who bring their little band of adventurers along for the ride???) 
> 
> anyway, i honestly didn't think anyone would want to read this fic, but i got a lot of positive feedback about the idea on my last fic and so i've decided to post the first chapter and see how it goes. (sidenote: thank you all again so damn much for your kind comments on 'wings' - you're all seriously the best and indepth feedback seriously motivates me/gives me confidence to keep writing and posting).
> 
> so now, really quick, here are a couple of details re the fic: as in the description, you definitely don't need to have seen either of the films to read this fic (but if you haven't, seriously dude, wyd?), although some jokes and most plot points will be more recognisable if you've seen the films. also, the mummy at one time or another in the 30s was considered a 'horror' movie but by the standards of today, any violence/horror/gore is soooo negligible. i do include small details of weapons, fighting, curses, horror etc. but it's honestly on a lower level to the show itself but i just wanted to include this as a little content warning.
> 
> that's all from me - please do leave a comment if you read this, as i'm actually super nervous about posting something so dumb and cheesy but otherwise different from my past two aus. i really hope you enjoy!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who’s back? back again. guess who’s back, guess who's back, guess who's back with more (kind of) history-based aus because they say you should write what you know and i really don’t know anything else. 
> 
> i definitely originally wrote this as a passion project because i've always wanted to write a mummy au given that it's my all-time favourite film (as is the mummy returns - we don't talk about any other mummy films) and wynonna earp really lends itself to the crossover imo. (i mean, it's really no big leap to see why i enjoy the two - comedic adventure narrative about curse/demon/undead creature hunting badasses who bring their little band of adventurers along for the ride???) 
> 
> anyway, i honestly didn't think anyone would want to read this fic, but i got a lot of positive feedback about the idea on my last fic and so i've decided to post the first chapter and see how it goes. (sidenote: thank you all again so damn much for your kind comments on 'wings' - you're all seriously the best and indepth feedback seriously motivates me/gives me confidence to keep writing and posting).
> 
> so now, really quick, here are a couple of details re the fic: as in the description, you definitely don't need to have seen either of the films to read this fic (but if you haven't, seriously dude, wyd?), although some jokes and most plot points will be more recognisable if you've seen the films. also, the mummy at one time or another in the 30s was considered a 'horror' movie but by the standards of today, any violence/horror/gore is soooo negligible. i do include small details of weapons, fighting, curses, horror etc. but it's honestly on a lower level to the show itself but i just wanted to include this as a little content warning.
> 
> that's all from me - please do leave a comment if you read this, as i'm actually super nervous about posting something so dumb and cheesy but otherwise different from my past two aus. i really hope you enjoy!!

**_Somewhere in the Western Desert, Egypt_ **

 

 

The heat of the day has reached its peak. Hot as hell, the midday sun sears the back of Nicole’s neck where it looms above her, oppressive and overwhelming in the centre of the barren sky. Frustrated, she sweeps her hand across her burning skin and succeeds only in brushing sweat over the blisters, making them sting all the more.

Pale skin and red hair don’t exactly do well in the sun, let alone a sweltering desert heat. Still, she marches on without complaint.

As the only woman in the group, complaints are not a luxury she can afford.

They all march along in silence, wading laboriously through sand like it is treacle. They are each too hot and too tired to make any conversation.

She thinks that they should try to rest soon, but once again it is not a thought she can voice. Any suggestion of rest will give most of the men cause to think her weaker than them.

Ordinarily, the group would move during the night when the temperature drops low, so low that it is almost beyond belief when your fingers feel as though they're going to freeze. Today though, their targets are on the move and they cannot afford to lose them now.

They had been sent to track a group of suspiciously well-equipped insurgents stirring up trouble at the Libyan border. Predictably enough, it wasn’t the insurgents so much as their tech that interested Nicole’s commanding officers, so the initial mission parameters were simple: track and observe, keep a distance, _do not be seen_.

Then, without warning, the insurgents had started moving eastwards just as Nicole’s division was deployed and suddenly their instructions had shifted, now unrecognisable from the original plan. They find themselves trying to stop their targets wreaking whatever havoc they could and whatever small settlements they could find.

Nicole and her team set out without delay from a town just outside of Cairo, taking a hastily re-planned route intended to intercept the guerillas.

Even with the change in objectives though, the mission was still supposed to be relatively short. Yet every time the group had thought they’d be pulled out, their  _sojourn_  in the desert was extended, and the only time they so much as see a military vehicle is when additional supplies are airdropped in.

It would be fair to say that no one had underestimated the mission, but with no end date in sight it was tough to adapt emotionally to the conditions they faced. Tempers were always slightly frayed and everyone felt on edge to some degree or another.

The desert is unforgiving.

This they knew before they arrived, but they have experienced it firsthand in the past weeks.

They haven’t seen a sizeable body of water since they left Sanhur. Even the town seemed brash and tough but it had, at least, been preferable to the unnerving silence of the whale graveyard.

Admittedly, Nicole had been entranced by the trek through Wadi Al-Hitan but the odd spectacle of countless, herculean skeletons marooned across the sand was perturbing to say the least.  Most of the men had seemed unsettled amongst the bones too. Old soldiers had their superstitions.

And the visions didn’t make it any easier, either.

Since the oasis at Sanhur, most members of the group had succumbed to at least one mirage. They were dangerous, damnable things. They called to each of them like hazy siren songs, beckoning them off a safe path with the promise of cool water and plump fruit. Worse than goblin men, they could lead even the most hardened soldiers astray.

Still, all of this had seemed like a dream compared to the storm that had hit a few miles out of the graveyard, leaving them stranded and vulnerable amongst the pale limestone towers of the white desert. There wasn’t a single person in the division who didn’t feel as though the sand clouds hadn’t flayed the very skin from their bodies, in spite of their best efforts to shelter from the worst of the squall.

Frankly, it is a wonder their downtrodden, single-file caravan has made it even this far.

Worse still, although no one really wants to admit it, they seem to have partly lost the scent of the group they’re supposed to be tracking. Even Jeremy was struggling to pick up stray radio signals, well equipped as he is with the best technology the government could supply. The best they could do now was to follow an uncertain route through a stifling and rocky valley, craggy brown rocks dwarfing them on either side.

It is a vulnerable position but it is the only route that doesn’t involve blindly ploughing through an unnavigable sea of towering, shifting sand dunes. So they take their chances, hoping the echoey canyon doesn’t give them away entirely.

There is something eerie about the sounds of the valley; the way their footsteps echo as they slip on piles of loose slates and stones, their shadows casting out like silent vigils at their feet. It is not just Nicole who is wary here, everyone seems tense as they traipse along. She can practically feel Jeremy’s nerves as he struggles to keep the pace a few feet behind her. He was not built for the field, but they can’t apply his science remotely on this one - the conditions are too extreme.

These are all albatross thoughts and Nicole knows it, shaking her head to banish them.

A broad figure appears beside her, momentarily blocking out the sun.

“I know,” Dolls murmurs kindly, nudging her shoulder with his arm. “I don’t like it either.”

Nicole glances up, flashing him a brief smile. It barely lasts a second, however, as the quiet around them is shattered by an all too familiar _crack_ of gunfire echoing amongst the rocks.

A belated warning cry goes up as those near the back of the line attempt to pick out the location of the shooter. Nicole catches a glint in the distance and signals imperceptibly to Dolls. He follows her gaze and fires off a shot as Nicole grabs Jeremy by the collar of his shirt and manhandles him behind the nearest source of shelter. They land in a cloud of dust, Jeremy yelping indignantly.

After that, all hell breaks loose. Guerillas suddenly swarm into sight, interspersed amongst the rocks. Each man is armed to the teeth with tech Nicole can barely recognise.

In the time it takes for her to swear between gritted teeth and sling her gun down off her shoulder, the rest of the division dives to find cover. They disappear one by one behind boulders or into shallow caves in the rock face.

Nicole takes a quick shot at the first enemy fighter she sees, but they have all found good cover. Her bullet merely splits the rock behind which the soldier ducks.

She throws a distracted glance at Jeremy.

“I assume you’re sticking around this time?” she asks in jest, recalling how long it had taken them to find him after their group last ran into trouble. She’d feared him dead at the time.

“Yeah,” Jeremy replies, voice a little too high to sound entirely convincing. “Yeah of course I am,” he says as Nicole darts up to fire shots, pell-mell, above them.

She wants to look out for Jeremy but, as she thumbs through her ammunition supplies, she realises that at this point she’ll be lucky to look after herself. Their stocks are recklessly low.

On the other side of the gorge, an insurgent fighter tumbles downward and Nicole catches sight of Dolls drawing back to a safe position, a look of grim relief on his face.

Nicole isn’t sure how long she and Jeremy crouch there as she fires shots at the open rock face before she hears Dolls’ yell.

“They’re sending men to the ground! Everyone fan out! Get yourselves to betters positions, we’re sitting ducks out here right now. You know the formation. _Move. Now!”_

Nicole barks an order to Jeremy to run back the way they came. All she can hope is that they’ll put enough distance between themselves and the guerillas to give her some time to think of a few half-decent tactics.

Once the two of them stumble out of the valley, they are left facing only miles of blank desert, the dunes all rising upward in slopes. Behind them, the sound of shooting intensifies.

“Jeremy! That way,” she points eastward. “Let’s see if we can get above them, I can try and help the others if I can get higher up than the insurgents.”

They run blindly, hardly sure that they are heading in the right direction amongst the uniformity of the orange sand. Eventually however, they are caught as a group of fighters appear from nowhere in front of them. They are critically outnumbered.

They change direction, dodging bullets and barely looking where they are running.

Nicole risks only the odd glance over her shoulder, occasionally swivelling round and pausing to take a few shots at the insurgents. Eventually, however, she runs out of supplies for her rifle and launches the whole thing in frustration at their ever-nearing assailants. Improbably, it does actually hit one of the men but he barely registers when it glances his arm.

Nicole unholsters her shotguns, eventually emptying them both too and still the men seem to grow in number, rather than shrink.

Both of her pistols go the way of the rifle as she and Jeremy are pushed further into the desert. They run, only half-watching where they are going, until Jeremy stumbles over the corner of a large, flat rock, just barely poking out of the sand. He goes flying completely, scrabbling away in her periphery.

The rock that tripped him is too smooth to have been shaped by desert winds, but it is only when she glances outwards to call for Jeremy that she registers her wider surroundings.

They have, somehow, come across the crumbling ruins of an ancient temple.

Nicole could almost swear that it must have risen out of the sand around them because neither of them had spotted it before.

She wants to stop and wrestle Jeremy to his feet, but the enemy fighters are hot on her heels and she knows that the best thing they can do right now is split up. It is not so much _divide and conquer_ as _divide and outrun_ and it is a terrible plan, but there is no time for anything better. Besides, she has already managed to lose sight of Jeremy amongst the ruins and she prays to any number of deities that he has found a place to hide.

All jokes aside, she’d rather spend an hour tracking him down later than have him risk his life any further.

Focussing as best she can on her own survival, she darts blindly around the old ruins. In an attempt to throw off those in pursuit, she zig-zags at random around the old, shaky pillars. Bullets ping off them with such noise and force that she worries that some of the structures might fall. She has no plans to be crushed by huge hunks of sandstone tumbling down onto her, especially not when she already has more than enough to contend with today.

Sweat soaks through her shirt as her body protests against the combined heat and exertion, and the blisters on her neck sting more than ever. Her chest heaves and her eyes burn in response to the sand she kicks up as she pelts onwards. Her legs, used to hours of hiking, are the only parts of her holding up okay; the heatstroke will probably get her first.

Still, she runs and, for a few brief moments, she dares to hope that she might be breaking away.

But in spite of the loose stone, the shrapnel, and the pounding in her head, it is the ancient city that proves to be her downfall. She gets losts amongst the pockmarked walls and almost crashes into a dead end: a set of stone barriers that have endured better than their counterparts.

She skids to a halt in the shadow of a large stone jackal, aged by the sun and so eroded by the sand that it was missing an ear. Defeated, she knows the guerillas are only seconds away and she turns to face them, heart still hammering against her ribs.

She cannot engage the men in hand-to-hand combat, not as they appear to surround her in a semi-circle, all a good eight feet away and brandishing their weapons. There are too many of them, and they are all armed to the teeth with weapons the likes of which she has never seen before, even in the most covert _Black Badge_ testing room.

She winces but keeps her eyes open and her gaze steely. She wants to be brave, even as she braces herself for the shock of bullets slicing through her.

She has been shot only once before, merely a glancing wound to the flesh of her arm. It had hurt, and she can still vividly remember the sensation of pain it caused, but it will be nothing compared to this.

All the books had lead her to believe that your life was supposed to pass before your eyes at a time like this, but all Nicole knows is the burning of her skin and the sick, exhausted feeling deep in the pit of her stomach.

She watches, fearful and fatigued, as the men brandish their weapons. One in particular catches her attention when he turns to look at the stone jackal and, had Nicole been in a position to fight, she knows she would have used such a moment against her opponent.

But then, to her surprise, all of the men turn to look first at the statue and then to the sand beneath Nicole’s feet. Without a single word passing between them, they all promptly turn on their heels and speed away.

Stunned with disbelief, she wipes the sweat from her brow with a shaking hand.

“What the…”

Her brain feels sluggish and slow, the tail end of her adrenalin rush fading to nothing and making her feel weak. She cannot even begin to turn her thoughts to why her attackers had run, and focuses instead on her next mission - namely, finding Jeremy.

She wonders, dimly, what weird and wonderful space he has - hopefully - managed to conceal himself in this time.

It is her only moment of calm and relative normality before a strange, garbled roar starts up, echoing amongst the ruins. She doesn’t even get the chance to move before the very volume of it makes it feel as though it is rattling the very foundations of the ancient town. Then she glances down and realises that, impossibly, the sand beneath her feet _is_ moving.

She darts aside, onto an old foundation stone much like the one that Jeremy had fallen over. All she can do is watch, aghast, as the sand where she had stood launches itself upwards as though controlled by some invisible force.

It reminds Nicole of seafoam, like waves breaking on the cliffs as white horses scatter themselves about. But right now, in the middle of the desert, there is no seawater, much less a single breath of wind to stir the hot, dry air. Every movement the sand makes is impossible - it _should_ be impossible and Nicole suddenly understands what it means when people say they almost pinched themselves to ensure something was real.

Reasonably, this  _could_ be a mirage but the instantaneous fear coursing through her tells her otherwise. She isn't sure exactly what she has to be scared of, only that she has seldom known a cold, shivering fear like this one. Something here, something in this ancient city, is simply  _wrong_. 

The rumbling cry continues all the while and the possibility of sinkholes or caves-ins darts vaguely across the back of her mind, but it is not that which has her running away, on instinct, from where the sand slithers about in great trails.

Her fear settles uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach, greater and more urgent than the fear that had propelled her from the guerilla soldiers. And as she steps urgently away from the patch of moving sand, her insides knot even tighter.

Only from a distance is it possible to see that the sand has formed a pattern. The unmistakable outline of a man’s face protrudes out of the ground.

He stares skyward, his large mouth parted and, somehow, Nicole knows that the roar she can hear is coming from this strange spectacle.

Not easily perturbed or startled, Nicole is not ashamed to admit that her heart flies into her mouth and she can think of little more than distancing herself from the sight before her. Again, her brain is sending garbled signals that this place isn't natural. 

She runs, calling for Jeremy as she retraces her steps back towards the city’s entrance.

Heart still pounding, she searches high and low but Jeremy is nowhere to be found.

She hurries further outwards, sand giving way to stone and stone giving way to more sand and dust again. In one moment of haste, Nicole’s foot catches on an old foundation stone where it once would have divided one room from another. The remnants of some walls still poke faintly out of the heaps of sand and dirt.

She skids to a stop, taking a moment to steady herself. She is quite sure that she is not being pursued by anyone or _anything_ , but nonetheless she is in no hurry to linger in this ghostly space any longer than necessary.

She swivels her head and glances about, checking for any sign that Jeremy has been here and, in doing so, something on the ground catches her eye. It is a small, dark shape, much darker than the pale stone and paler sand of this place.

Something in it whispers to her, beckoning her closer. Something in it dampens down her basest instincts, the ones telling her not to touch anything here. It is like water to a flame of caution and, in spite of herself, she finds herself drawing closer.

She barely pauses to consider picking up the tiny object, and in the days and weeks to come she will only marvel at this lack of caution. But in that moment she doesn’t give weight to curses or poisons or ancient booby-traps, she simply scoops the object into her hand.

Her knowledge of ancient artefacts is fairly rudimentary but even to an untrained eye it is clear that the object is from antiquity.

It looks, for all intents and purposes, to be an old, carved stone box.

She turns it over on her palm once, then twice, before tucking it into a free pocket of her utility belt. She is sure there is probably something wrong with filching a piece of the past like this, but in the moment all she can think about is the comforting _realness_ of it.

In the hot, feverish days to come that one piece of solid stone will be enough to remind her that none of this was a dream or a mirage.

She continues calling for Jeremy as she searches, but she is met only with silence. She wonders if he has made his way back to the open desert and feels a prickle of fear at the thought. It is easy to get lost out there and, with her division scattered, it would be close to impossible to regroup fully.

Against all odds, Nicole eventually finds her way back to the ravine where they’d been ambushed and expects to find pockets of fighting still in full flow.

Instead, she is met only with empty space and barely any signs of a disturbance, aside from a few bullet casings and scattered shards of rock, blown apart by gunfire.

She is, without a doubt, completely and utterly alone.

Immediately she reaches for her belt and finds the box in there, solid and real - the only assurance she has that she hasn’t lost her mind in the cruel heat of the desert.  

  
  
  


* * *

 

 

 

 

 **_Some months later.  
_ ** **_Cairo, Egypt_ **

 

 

Waverly Earp stands amongst what can only reasonably called carnage, the shouts of the museum curator still ringing round the room.

She’d never purported to be confident on the rickety old ladder they used to reach the top of the towering bookcases - they did not _need_ to be that tall! - her strengths lay more in the actual content of the books themselves.

Granted, it had taken a very special kind of mishap to knock down six full bookshelves but somehow, she had managed it.

One minute she was reaching out to retrieve a misfiled text on Tuthmosis III, and the next she was falling backwards, still clinging to the ladder, towards the bookcase behind her. The unit fell, because _of course_ it did. Ten feet tall and made of sturdy wood, somehow it still toppled over on impact, taking out a further five shelves on its way.

Waverly, naturally, fell to the ground too, landing right onto a pile of hard-backed books.

Given the rest of the damage done to the room, the curator hadn’t seemed to bothered about the shock of bruises no doubt already blooming on Waverly’s backside.

He’d come running at the sound of crashing, had thoroughly told her off and ordered her to straighten everything out, with no concern to her own well-being and certainly with no offer of help.

Working alone, it was going to take quite an effort to get everything put back together again. She sighs, understanding that there is no use laying around and contemplating the task at hand. Instead, she blows a stray wisp of hair out of her face and gets to work, sifting despondently through the nearest pile of books.

She doesn’t know how she’ll get the bookcases upright again, but she knows this library like the back of her hand, and she can at least put all the books back in their right order.

There is a suitable type of aesthetic to this place and although Waverly can’t say for sure whether it is by design or not, it simply _looks_ a certain way one imagines libraries should. The dark wood desks and their green-shaded reading lights look _right_ , the chipped old ladder for the tall shelves looks _right,_ and even the oversized, heavy old tomes look _right_.

Nonetheless for all the knowledge they contain and for all their pleasing aesthetics, lugging them around is sweaty, thankless work in the Egyptian heat. Waverly is sporting an unattractive sheen by the time she has sifted through the contents of just one set of shelves. She leans back against an old table for a quick rest when a voice from behind her nearly has her jumping out of her skin.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Waverly can hear Wynonna’s smirk before she even turns around to see her sister standing in the doorway, taking in the mess on the floor. Wynonna has arranged herself into a casual lean against the doorframe, and Waverly can see immediately that her sister’s position is quite intentional.

“Nothing,” Waverly says, turning back to her task. “I just had a bit of an accident.”

“Babygirl this isn’t just a _bit_ of an accident,” Wynonna says, putting two and two together quickly. “Although I can’t say I’m surprised that your sense of balance on that ladder has finally been your literal downfall. You’re an Earp. We’re not made for heights.”

Waverly bites back a sigh. Normally, she’d be up for a playful back and forth with her sister. Today, however, she is really not in the mood.

It is barely midday and she has already managed destroy half the library during the height of summer. The library’s feeble metal ceiling fans do little more than move hot air and dust in lazy currents around the room. She is hot, she is tired, and she’ll be lucky to catch up with all her work before the end of the week thanks to the delay she has caused for herself.

“Do you really have nothing better to do than disturb me at work today Wynonna?”

Wynonna scoffs, feigning shock.

“ _Nothing better to do_?” she mimics, trying and failing to sound wounded. “I’ll have you know that right at this moment my career is at an all-time high. Frankly, sis, you’re lucky I’m still bestowing you with my presence.”

Wynonna draws herself up to her full height, aiming for dignified and impressive.

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

Waverly feels satisfied with her response; no accidental smiles at the joke response, her voice solid and even. Anyone else might actually have thought she meant it.

“But then you’d never hear about my amazing discovery,” Wynonna points out, as though this means much of anything to Waverly who cannot help but laugh derisively.  

It’s not that she is trying to be unkind, but any suggestion that either of their careers is flourishing is the best joke she has heard in a fair while. It is, at least, a grim comfort to know that they are both in the same boat, rowing ineffectually against the current of ultimate defeat.

This unfortunate lack of success has long been one of the only similarities in their chosen paths.

And, if they have both kept broadly within the confines of the proverbial family business, then that is simply because both the name and the legacy of _Earp_ make it hard to deviate sometimes.

You would have thought that being an Earp would actually be an advantage in the world of antiquities, but this has never really proved to be the case.

(Not that Waverly has ever wanted success through anything but merit, but sometimes it would be nice to feel that not absolutely _everything_ was against them).

Their great-great grandfather, Wyatt, had been a famous explorer and treasure-seeker, travelling far and wide in search of lost valuables and rare antiques. He was part of the first large wave of Western scholars who had sought their fortune in the remnants of the ancient world, and his escapades had paved the way for the twentieth century archaeology boom. He had even been cited as an inspiration for the likes of Carter and Leakey themselves.

Wyatt’s methods had been anything but scholarly, and it made Waverly cringe now to think of how he went about unearthing objects of the past.

Treasure and not knowledge, Waverly understood, had been the currency in Wyatt’s day. And, by those mores, Wyatt had found remarkable success; uncovering an unprecedented swathe of ancient Egyptian tombs.

Most remarkably, all of his big finds had been mercifully untouched by the grave-robbers that were common to the ancient world. While Wyatt’s success had come at a price, it had deterred very few of his progeny from following in his footsteps.

Since Wyatt’s day, the Earp name had become synonymous with antiquity in one way or another, and, either by choice or by circumstance, almost every one of Wyatt’s heirs had fallen into a similar line of work.

Much like Edwin Earp (known somewhat unfairly as the ‘One-Year Wonder’ because he only made a single truly significant discovery – albeit one that sustained the rest of his long career), Waverly had chosen the academic route, dreaming of making a name for herself as a scholar and an archaeologist.

Unfortunately, things were moving much more slowly than Waverly would like. Her undergraduate and postgraduate degrees had been financially crippling, especially given that there were very few funds left in the proverbial Earp coffers by the time their father had passed away. More than that, her father’s time as Earp heir had left something of a black spot on the Earp name with his brazen hostility to an academy he had never remotely respected.

Very few scholars worth their salt had thought that one of Ward Earp’s kids was acting genuinely in trying to take the academic path; very few people would give Waverly’s research proposals a second glance. They keep going on about ‘experience in the field’, and although Waverly tries her best nothing seems to be enough.

Work at the museum-slash-library might be slow and poorly paid, but at least it is relevant to her interests and gives her a modicum of experience.

Then, of course, there is Wynonna.

As much as she loves her sister, Waverly is also aware that Wynonna isn’t exactly helping her mission.

Never one to even so much as skirt a conventional path, Wynonna follows more directly in Wyatt’s footsteps. As more of a treasure-hunter than a historian, Wynonna tended to ‘find’ artefacts at the behest of clients, some more unscrupulous than others.

Their father had also shown what Waverly termed a flagrant disrespect for history, but in Ward Earp’s case this was actually more accurately a flagrant disinterest in much of anything but a bottle of whiskey and the hunt for the kind of history most people said was pure myth.

This, Waverly still assumes, was the reason Ward hated scholars so much; because his own, admittedly rather wild, theories had been cruelly laughed into obscurity one too many times. Her father’s drinking – and his continued vocal belief in the existence of pretty much anything the academy deemed hokum – had only thrown the Earp name further down the pan.

After all, the real legacy of the Earp name was the high expectations it brought with it. Ward had never really lived up to them, and it seemed that his surviving daughters were cursed to follow in his footsteps. While Waverly worked for a pittance at the library, Wynonna had been struggling to meet her clients’ demands for rare artefacts for a while now. The black market on antiquities was kind of stalling at the moment.

So, all told, Waverly can’t really be blamed for finding amusement in the merest suggestion that either sister might be finding any kind of career success.

Rather than reply, Wynonna simply tosses a battered paper bag across the room. Somehow, Waverly manages to catch it deftly, noting the weight of its contents in her hands.

“Sorry, is this thing you just threw carelessly at me meant to be valuable?” she asks in jest, glad she managed not to drop whatever Wynonna has managed to unearth. “Do you normally just launch artefacts across a room?”

Wynonna ignores the joke, rolling her eyes instead.

“Just open it Waverly.”

As Waverly opens the bag, she tries to be at least borderline stern. This isn’t the first time Wynonna has brought mysteriously-sourced and totally valueless items to Waverly’s place of work.

“Wynonna I swear to God if you’ve just handed me yet another piece of crap that you want me to try and sell to the curator for you, I’m going t- ”

She breaks off, looking down in surprise at the object in her palm as it tumbles out of its inadequate packaging. Moving to stand beside her, Wynonna smirks again even if Waverly is too distracted to notice.

Waverly’s statement hangs without weight between them - they both know she didn’t have a decent threat at the ready either way.

“Wynonna,” Waverly breathes, almost scared to speak too loudly. “Where on earth did you get this?”

Wynonna hesitates, scuffing the toe of her boot on the wooden floor.

Waverly narrows her eyes, finally tearing her eyes away from her hand. “ _Wynonna,_ I swear to God I am not in the mood today.”

Looking guilty Wynonna holds up her hands.

“Okay, okay. Look, I helped out on a dig. Down at Thebes.”

Waverly’s feels her jaw tense on instinct and she brandishes the object at her sister.

“And you didn’t log the find? This is _stolen_ , Wynonna.”

Waverly looks down at what she assumes is a little box, given the small hinges on some of its edges. Dark in colour and octagonal in shape, it is covered with inscriptions on every available face. They’re written mostly in hieroglyphic form, so she can surmise that the box came from someone rich – everyday ancient Egyptians couldn’t read the religious language any better than most people today.

Without translating everything, Waverly can’t know exactly what the object is or what it was used for. What she does know, however, is that the box is like nothing she has ever seen first-hand before.

She has to grudgingly admit that Wynonna has a good eye.

“So it fell into my bag. So what? Why shouldn’t my baby sister have a chance at the find of the decade?”

Waverly is mute for a second, unsure of what to say. Wynonna had taken the box for _her_ and she appreciated the gesture, but building a name off of something stolen violated every code of good practice in the book. Plus, she could hardly say she produced this thing from thin air.

She supposes, _technically_ , it could appear as some long-lost, unlogged item from deep in the museum’s storage room…

Waverly catches the thought and puts the brakes on before it can go any further. She is absolutely not considering this.

Her silence as she grapples with her conscience says enough to Wynonna, whose face splits into a wide grin.

“ _See_? I knew I’d really found something this time. Say it. Go on,” she beams and it is almost infectious. Wynonna knocks her elbow in Waverly’s arm. “Wave, say it. Say I found something.”

Waverly can’t help but let a small smile slip; her sister has always managed to have this effect. She examines the box again before answering. With a practised hand, Waverly smooths the tips of her fingers across the box, looking for a catch.

Her hunch pays off, and the top of the box springs open. The little chamber beneath is shallow, much less than the overall depth of the box  and this tells them that the object still hides further secrets.

In spite of themselves, they both inhale audibly. Waverly dives for a pair of gloves and, once adequately equipped, gently fishes out a thin scrap of folded papyrus, on which can be found a faint but unmistakable outline of a map.

“Wynonna. I think you’ve found something.”

 

 

 

 

 

The library is adjoined to a deceptively small museum.

Space might be at a premium but they have truly made the most of it. The place is packed to the rafters with artefacts. Most of the exhibits and the corresponding information cards were designed by Waverly herself, and it is a certain point of pride that the guestbook is always filled with glowing reviews.

Although she practically manages the place on her own, the official title of _curator_ goes to Mr Elmasry, a short, greying man with exacting standards and a sharp tongue to match them.

Both Waverly and Wynonna watch closely, hardly daring to breathe, as he sits at his desk and examines the box. He does not ask where it came from; he has learnt enough of Wynonna’s magpie tendencies to know that the odd information deficiency is worth a degree of plausible deniability.

His glasses periodically slip down his nose and he turns the box over and over, looking for something Waverly isn’t privy to. There is a slight sheen on his skin from the summer heat, sending the glasses downwards more quickly.

Waverly’s heart is racing with a mixture of nerves and excitement and as a result she can’t seem to keep her mouth shut.

“I’ve gone ahead and dated the box already. Based on the forms of each of the languages present and the state of the papyrus, it has to be at least three thousand years old. Of course, carbon dating will give us a better indication.”

Waverly pauses, she is pretty sure her mention of carbon dating is a completely transparent hint at the curator to put some of the museum’s funds into researching this item.

Always with a tight grip on the purse strings, Mr Elmasry’s response would never have been anything less than reticent but he seems absolutely bent on seeming deliberately underwhelmed by the box in his hand.

When he merely huffs in response, Waverly continues speaking, unperturbed.

“And, have you seen the cartouche on the lid? I’m certain it’s the royal seal of _Seti I_.”

“Hm. _Perhaps_.”

Waverly feels a prickle of irritation at this continuous feigned indifference. She assumes that the curator is annoyed that such a fine discovery was made by Wynonna, who clearly attended the dig by complete chance. This doesn’t change the fact that this artefact is extremely exciting; under any other circumstances he’d be as impassioned as Waverly.

“And look here,” she points to a part of the map. “You see the Hieratic there? It says ‘Hamunaptra'.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Waverly sees Wynonna’s mouth drop open inelegantly. She snaps it shut a split second later.

“Wait. Hold up. Are you talking about _the_ Hamunaptra?”

“Is there another?” Waverly says with a shrug then, feeling as though she has been too abrupt she adds, “it’s the one you’re thinking of, yeah. City of the Dead, the resting place for all the wealth of Egypt that never made it to a Pharaoh’s personal tomb, you know the stories...”

She does not add that they know them from their father, but both people present fill in the gaps perfectly well. Mr Elmasry had known Ward personally, although the two seldom saw eye to eye, and Waverly often wonders if some strange sense of beleaguered responsibility had lead the curator to give Waverly a job in the first place.

From his desk, Mr Elmasry scoffs. “Ladies will you please retain even a bit of sense? Hamunaptra was a myth started up by the locals of your great-great grandfather’s day. They designed the tale to amuse tourists and to keep men like Wyatt busy and far away from the _real_ treasures of the past.”

“Our father believed it existed,” Wynonna grumbles indignantly, thinking Mr Elmasry wouldn’t hear.

“Yes well your _father_ was -” he begins, tone scornful, and Waverly thinks it best to cut off that particular argument before it can begin in earnest.

“Putting all the nonsense stuff about the curse to one side for a minute,” Waverly cuts in, ignoring Wynonna when she asks ‘ _what curse?’_ , “much of my research on Seti’s dynasty has actually lead me to believe that the city itself could have existed. Perhaps the legend has been embellished over the years, but it’s perfectly possible _some_ kind of ancient storage site could have been built. After all, we all know that a Pharaoh’s wealth couldn’t _all_ fit in their tombs.”

She speaks reasonably, plaintively, and her voice stays measured and even but it is to no avail.

“I find that very hard to believe, Waverly,” Mr Elmasry says with a patronising look as he reaches out to pick up his mug of coffee. He promptly proceeds to knock it over, covering the aged map on his desk with its entire contents.

The poor paper had survived a lot, but a full cup of boiling coffee proves too much and, surprisingly rapidly, it turns to a brownish mulch before their eyes.

For a moment, they all stare at the sad puddle in silence until Wynonna speaks, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“Dude. What the _hell_? You’ve just swamped the goddamn Lost City.”

The curator sighs and finally removes his wayward glasses before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, well. No doubt you’ll thank me eventually, given how many foolish explorers have met their demise trying to find the city. Or, more aptly,” he adds gravely, fixing a pointed look at Wynonna, “the _treasure_.”

Wynonna opens her mouth to argue, but before she can say anything Waverly drags her away by the arm, snatching the box from Mr Elmasry’s hand before he can think to protest. She mumbles a cursory thanks for his time, then shuts the door firmly behind them.  

Wynonna protests all the way back to the relative privacy of the library, keen for Waverly to let her go back and have it out with the curator.

Directing them to the very end of the room, still completely trashed from earlier, Waverly positions herself between Wynonna and the main exit route. When she feels certain Wynonna won’t dart, Waverly finally loosens her grip on her sister’s arm.

“Wynonna, listen to me. Something is up,” Waverly’s gaze darts about as she speaks, as is so often the case when she is thinking hard, her brain moving thirty paces ahead of her mouth.

“You’re damn right something is up - that dude’s attitude for a st- ”

“No, you’re not listening. The curator just destroyed a rare and historically valuable artefact and he didn’t even flinch. I’ve seen his eyes water when someone brings something in that’s been mildly scratched. That was _not_ normal behaviour,” Waverly says, words tumbling out fast and Wynonna - recognising this kind of million miles an hour thought process - softens.

“I’m listening.”

“Did you hear the way he dismissed me the instant I mentioned Hamunaptra?” Waverly continues, feeling heated at the mere memory of Mr Elmasry’s patronising tone. He had a tendency to be pompous, something of a peacock in nature, but he had never behaved in such a way before.

“I heard it,” Wynonna says firmly. “Almost like he wanted you to stop talking about the box and about - ”

“Hamunaptra,” they say in unison, their voices weighty.

“But,” Waverly says, going back to musing aloud and having absolutely no idea where this is leading, “that wouldn’t make sense. Not unless - ” she hesitates, unwilling to speak such an illogical idea aloud.

Wynonna, however, has no such misgivings.

“Unless he believes it exists too?”

Waverly thinks about it, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth. It is a long shot, so unlikely it is practically laughable, but stranger things have been proven real.

“I don’t know about that for sure, but he would never have been so blasé normally. This,” she holds out the box, “is incredibly exciting. And, annoyed at us or not, he would have _cared_ about history being needlessly destroyed. In fact, I don’t know why he examined that map at his desk anyway.”

There is an excitable glint in Wynonna’s eye. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

Waverly takes a breath to try and steady the rapid beat of her heart. Believing in the existence of a lost treasure city, the goddamn _City of the Dead_ no less, goes against every code of good practice that she’s ever been taught.

But there is something swirling in her gut which tells her to press this further. She doesn’t know what it is exactly, has never actually _felt_ an instinct like this, just how people describe in stories. It is like something has settled beneath her skin, a quiet certainty that this little box really does mean something.

It is more than that though, and she knows it even if she doesn’t want to admit it.

Somewhere in a space locked down with remarkable efficiency, Waverly longs for adventure and for the thrill of discovery. Maybe it is the Earp blood in her, maybe it is something else entirely, but deep down she wants to believe in lost cities and maybe even some kind of ancient secret magic.

Plus, if she can prove something, _anything_ , about the real Hamunaptra then it could be her big break. It would be an unmissable chance to impress the academics who keep denying her valuable research grants. There would be no harm in doing some metaphorical digging, because her work at the museum wasn’t getting her anywhere and a little side job couldn’t hurt, could it?

“I don’t know what I’m suggesting yet,” Waverly says eventually. “But it can’t hurt to look. I’ll need to get my notes on Seti out and see if I can find anything of use. Then, we’ll need to translate the writing on the box to help us find Hamunaptra. You know, assuming it’s even real.”

“It is,” Wynonna interjects evenly. “I remember how Dad used to talk about it.”

She doesn’t voice it aloud, but Waverly rather thinks that their father’s certainty is a mark against, rather than in favour of, the city’s existence. Besides, even if it did once exist, without the map they’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of finding its ruins. It would be impossible even to know where to start looking, in terms of which books and ancient texts to use.

She says as much to Wynonna, who immediately starts scuffing at the floor with her boot again. It is one of her tells.

“ _Wynonna_?”

“Yeah so I, uh. I might be able to help with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oookay so this is just a little way to set the scene and from next chapter onwards, we'll jump right in with waverly and nicole meeting and setting off on their adventure with wynonna in tow. 
> 
> i really hope this was okay, please settle my nerves either with a comment or with some cool chats on twitter (@rositabustiiios) maybe? my usual corresponding picspam can also be found on twitter: https://twitter.com/rositabustiIIos/status/949425065992613891 or on tumblr: www.birositabustillos.tumblr.com/post/169361721058/ 
> 
> (also, final special shoutout to rachel weisz/evy from the mummy for my first major bisexual awakening at age 11ish. thanks rachel, i owe you one).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which our girls have kind of an unconventional meeting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! so i'm back super soon essentially for two reasons - firstly i really wanted to move the fic past setting the scene and get to the point where nicole meets wynonna and waverly, secondly i've really comfortably gotten into the habit of posting on mondays and, as it fits so well into my schedule, i'd like to keep up with it where possible. since chapter two was ready i figured there was no time like the present! 
> 
> importantly, thank you so much for the warm reception on chapter 1! it really meant a lot and i hope i will be able to continue putting out chapters which warrant and continue such a wonderful response. 
> 
> i'm a tad nervous about this chapter too - this first meeting in the movie is perhaps one of the few things that doesn't lend itself to the canon characteristics of waverly and nicole, and staying true to both has proven a bit nervewracking. please let me know if this worked and, if you have time, what did/didn't - as i'm open to amendments etc if appropriate. with that said, i'll stop talking and get on with the chapter!

Unwilling to give anything away, Wynonna slinks off to, as she puts it, ‘make a few calls’.

Waverly doesn’t particularly like the sound of this, but knows that she can do little more than cross whatever bridge is on the horizon when she comes to it.

Instead, she steps over the remaining books on the library floor (they will have to be tended to later) and immediately continues working on the little box’s inscriptions.

The carvings are beautifully intricate and impossibly small, the work of someone skilled beyond measure, and ordinarily they would leave Waverly marvelling. In this instance, however, she is mostly just frustrated at the symbols’ diminutive size; even under a comically large magnifying glass they are near impossible to read, especially set into dark stone.

Eventually, she decides (against her better judgement) to risk the tiniest bit of light exposure and takes pictures of each side of the box on her phone. The flash helps and the zoom feature is a life-saver, but nonetheless this does not change the complexity of the language. Waverly’s progress improves, but still it remains slow. 

In fact, she has barely translated half of the box when Wynonna returns. 

Outside, the sun has slipped along the sky and everything is the earthy orange of impending sunset. The afternoon has completely passed Waverly by and her neck is stiff and sore; she must have been hunched over for at least a couple of hours. She needs a break.

She stands up and stretches as Wynonna, making herself mildly useful, clears a walkway through the fallen books with the toe of her boot.

“How’s it going?” she asks when she reaches Waverly’s table.

Waverly pulls a face.

“Not well. How did you get on with...whatever you were doing?”

Wynonna opens her mouth to reply, then sighs and shuts it again.

“It’s probably easier if I just tell you on the way. It’s closing time isn’t it?

 Waverly narrows her eyes in suspicion. 

“I’d much rather know where we’re going first.” 

“Let’s call it a sisters’ evening out, shall we?” 

Wynonna looks sheepish as she speaks, and neither her words nor her demeanour give Waverly much faith that this will be an enjoyable outing for her. 

“Fine, but you’re helping me close up.”

 

 

 

 

 

Almost without warning, Waverly finds herself on a packed, uncomfortable bus across the city.

They arrive at the bus stop and before she can ask any questions, and Wynonna simply hustles her onto a waiting vehicle. 

The bus follows a route Waverly isn’t particularly familiar with, the sun dipping lower and lower as she stares out the window. Eventually buildings grow sparser and there are less people wandering the sidewalks until Waverly can only conclude that they are undeniably on the city’s outskirts. By the looks of things, these are the kind of outskirts that look to be a bit questionable. 

This becomes even more evident when Wynonna finally ushers her off the bus and outside the last building Waverly had ever expected to be visiting.

“You know, when you promised me an evening out, I was imagining something far grander than this,” Waverly grumbles, looking doubtfully at the battered stone sign in front of them. 

 _Cairo Prison_.

Waiting for them at the gate is a plump, middle-aged man. He sends them a jolly wave which looks extremely incongruous to the setting. 

At Waverly’s questioning look, Wynonna explains that he is a prison warden - as if this is the main question on Waverly’s mind.

Regardless, she cannot help but think that the fat little warden looks altogether too happy given the location and his occupation. When they are close enough, he welcomes them again - this time with a theatrical bow.

He checks their names, asks for ID and, evidently satisfied, says, “welcome to my humble home.”

He then trots off with a brief indication that they should follow him. Behind his back, Waverly mouths ‘ _home?’_ and Wynonna offers her a startled, confused look in response.

They walk a good ten paces behind the warden, aware that he is chattering on about the day-to-day business of the prison without knowing that neither of his guests is listening to him.

“Wynonna, you might have mentioned we were coming to the goddamn _prison_ ,” Waverly hisses out of the corner of her mouth. “Honestly I’d always assumed I’d only be coming here to bail you out one day.”

“Hey, I resent that,” Wynonna grumbles indignantly. “And you wouldn’t have come if I told you, would you?” 

“Probably not.”

“Well there you go then. Listen, there’s someone here who might be able to help us okay? So hold your judgement for the journey back home.”

It doesn’t take a huge conceptual leave for Waverly to successfully connect the dots hiding beneath Wynonna’s unspoken explanation.

“Jeez I wonder why I wouldn’t have come,” she groans. “Wynonna, you told me you got the box in Thebes.”

“There’s a strong possibility that I might have been mistaken.”

“ _Mistaken_? You flat out lied to me.”  

Wynonna gives her a lopsided grin. “Well shit don’t take it personally Waves. I lie to everybody.”

“Yes but I’m your sister.”

“In which case I’d probably say that you’re much more gullible than most in believing these kinds of things. I really think you’ve only got yourself to blame on this one.”  

“It was bad enough when I thought you’d stolen it from an archaeological site,” Waverly grumbles, ignoring Wynonna’s joke. “But it turns out you stole it from some down and out at the bar by our house instead.”

“I didn’t say it was at the bar. Or that I stole it.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“And how do you know I didn’t win the box at poker?” 

Waverly sighs loudly, but decides to take the bait. “Did you win it at poker?”

“Technically it fell out of someone’s pocket and there had been sufficient drinks that taking it didn’t seem as immoral as it now does. But, you know, same difference?”

“Not same difference Wyn,” Waverly says heavily, trying not to focus on how dirty the floor is or how loud the shouts of the prisoners are as they walk on. “Not even close. Do I even want to know how you knew to find this person here?”

“I checked in at the bar, who checked in here. I don’t know what happened specifically.” 

“Well I’m sure they’ll be delighted to fill you in,” Waverly says drily. 

“ _Yeah_ ,” Wynonna replies, drawing the word out. “I actually don’t think joining you for this meeting is the greatest idea.” 

Waverly frowns, feigning both ignorance and innocence.

“Really? Why ever not?”

“You _know_ why. She’s not going to be happy to see me, is she?” 

Wynonna makes as if to stop, but Waverly wraps a hand around her bicep in a death grip, forcing her to keep walking.

“What? Because you borrowed her stuff? _Nonsense_ I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you.”

Wynonna looks unconvinced. 

“Besides,” Waverly goes on. “I can’t wait to see this reunion.”

Without waiting for further comment from her sister, Waverly increases her pace and rejoins the still-oblivious warden.

She isn’t quite sure how Wynonna had managed to secure visitation with a non-relative at such short notice, but she supposes that the Earp name still opens some doors, albeit slightly unsavoury ones.

There are more pressing questions for her to focus on, so she starts there first.

“Excuse me,” she stops the warden for a moment. “My sister here hasn’t actually told me what this woman is in prison for. Perhaps you could help?” 

 _Probably theft as well_ , Waverly thinks as she struggles to imagine how else someone might have come across a map to the Lost City. 

The warden smiles at her question before indicating that they should keep walking. 

“Ah, well. I myself was not sure. But when I heard you both were coming I asked her for you myself,” he squares his shoulders officiously, clearly pleased that he’d gone the extra mile for them. 

“And what did she say?” Wynonna asks politely but impatiently, not appreciating the warden’s purposeful pause.

He unlocks a door and leads them down a narrow corridor, lined with mostly empty cells.

“She was adamant she hadn’t done anything wrong. Apparently, she was ‘just having a good time’.”

At that, he comes to a halt and indicates the next cell along the block. He does not walk any further, but gestures with a wide sweep of his arms that they should step forward and meet the prisoner. 

Not for the first time, Waverly hesitates. Nothing about this feels particularly by the book.

Even ignoring that Wynonna has lifted something from this woman (albeit with the best intentions), they shouldn’t have been able to secure visiting rights to a prisoner to whom they had no connection. More than that, they shouldn’t be visiting her here in the cell block.

She wonders now, if perhaps the Earp name really _has_ talked. There weren’t many people in this city with that surname and, once upon a time, they had much greater means than they now do. It crosses her mind now, that two Earps asking after a strange woman could imply a generous bail sum.

 _Well_ , Waverly thinks, bristling, _that won’t be happening_. 

Her hesitation has caused the guard’s polite demeanour to flicker slightly, as he evidently wonders what is taking her so long.

Trying to look more confident than she feels, Waverly drags Wynonna with her as they step in front of the old-fashioned iron-bar cell.

There hasn’t been time for her to assume anything; she doesn’t really know what she expects, or how she can feel that the woman staring out at her _isn’t_ what she anticipated. There hasn’t been time to foster too many judgements or misconceptions, and yet…

This woman slouched on the floor, knees bent, and back against one of the dingy, colourless walls is a million miles from Waverly’s understanding of ‘person arrested at a bar’.

The prisoner has the build of someone once strong, but who has gone slightly to waste; her cheeks look hollow, as though she hasn’t eaten a good meal in a while, and there are deep bags under her eyes that look like they come as much from too much experience as too much exhaustion. 

Nonetheless, her bare arms are sculpted like a statue, and even under the baggy prison scrubs her shoulders have a strong, toned line to them.

Then there is the bright red hair, hanging long and slightly limp around her shoulders, although Waverly can easily imagine that it was once soft and vibrant.

Waverly observes - she cannot seem to _help_ observing, there is something about this woman that demands to be looked at.  

Perhaps unfairly, Waverly’s contemplative silence compels the woman to react to her unexpected (and probably unwanted) visitors first. 

Behind the bars her face visibly falls, a frown deepening between her eyes. There is something angry lingering behind that expression too, although Waverly can hardly blame her, given her current situation stuck in a cell in a threadbare prisoner’s uniform. 

“Oh. You’re not Do- ” she begins but cuts herself off abruptly, as though she had surprised herself by speaking without intending to. She quickly schools a growing look of defeat into one of defiance. “Who are you?”

Even as she asks this her eyes pass over them; first with a lingering look over Waverly that brings a strange bout of goosebumps for the younger sister, and then to Wynonna. Immediately, a glimmer of recognition passes over the woman’s face.

Wynonna must see it, because she resorts quickly to her usual deflection tactics: grim humour.

“Oh, you know - just a foreign missionary here to spread the word of our Lord,” she says hurriedly, trying to move on from having been recognised. “But my sister here, Waverly, has something she needs to ask you.” 

“Waverly,” the woman repeats softly, sounding the name out on her tongue.

Mouth oddly dry, Waverly knows that she is looking gormless as she stands there in silence, but before she can speak a sudden flurry of crashes and shouts has her jumping out of her skin for the second time that day.

A disturbance at the other end of the block has broken out, and the warden - looking  worryingly impassive about it - excuses himself.

Waverly can’t say she is overjoyed at the prospect of being left unsupervised, but there is not much that can be done about it, and the woman hardly seems a threat. She looks bored, angry, but not especially dangerous.

Still, Waverly knows that appearances can be deceptive... 

“Sorry,” she says, fixing her full attention squarely back on the prisoner. She takes a hesitant step closer to the bars of the door, noting that Wynonna, for all her earlier protestations, is hot on her heels. “Yes, so I’m Waverly. You are…?” 

This time, it is the woman who keeps silent and, once again, that solid gaze drifts back over Waverly’s face.

She must arrive at some kind of decision nonetheless, because she introduces herself eventually.

“Nicole. Nicole Haught.”

Nicole Haught’s voice, even speaking three words, is soft and gentle. Again, Waverly struggles to see that this woman could pose a real threat. Indeed, she struggles to see much past Nicole’s pale skin and sharp, angular jawline. She observes again, and she loses her thread entirely. 

Wynonna, confused at the further delay, elbows Waverly in the ribs and she gives a small yelp.

“Nicole, right. Sorry. How a- ” Waverly stops as abruptly as she started. She simply cannot allow herself to complete that sentence, she cannot ask this stranger how she is while she is visibly holed up in a prison cell.

She blushes and, to make matters worse, catches Wynonna throwing her an incredulous look. 

If asked, Waverly herself couldn’t quite say what has come over her. The problem, she thinks, is that woman behind the bars is looking at her and, more than that, she is looking with intense, solemn brown eyes that throw Waverly completely off course.

The way Nicole Haught is looking at her makes Waverly feel like she is being stripped bare in the worst possible ways.

(And the best possible ways too).

Nicole stands, walks slowly to the door. Clearly, she had heard enough to know what Waverly was going to say - of course she had, there’s no way she might have missed it. 

She lays a hand on the door, moves it slightly, enough to rattle the old bars.

“How do you think I am?”

The comment is acerbic enough, but even as pissed off as she seems, Nicole lacks that final razor edge to her voice. There is no denying that the quip is far from gentle, but it still doesn’t quite have Waverly sinking into the floor.

Nevertheless, she blushes more.

“Right. Stupid question. Sorry.”

For the first time, something close to a grin - well, a smirk - finds its way to Nicole’s face.

“Kinda, yeah.” She sighs, all traces of any kind of humour gone. “This isn’t a zoo you know, just tell me why you’re here.”

Again, Nicole isn’t even half as rude as Waverly thinks she herself would be in this scenario - but her patience is clearly thinning.

Then, of course, Wynonna pipes up.

“What? You busy?”

First, Nicole’s face goes stony and Waverly braces herself to be evicted entirely from her presence. 

She wants to stamp on Wynonna’s foot in response to this terrible attempt at a charm offensive, then she throws caution the wind and _does_ stamp on Wynonna’s foot.

The whole thing seems to leave Nicole bemused, more than a little pissed, but not outwardly hostile. At least, not yet.

“Oh yeah, packed schedule in here. That argument down there is about the seventh in less than twenty-four hours. Dude at the other end will probably start screaming again when it’s time to sleep. The lights _never_ go out here though so you won’t miss a thing because you don’t _actually_ sleep. And we’re the only four in here so I dread the moment they move me to somewhere busier. But hey, who needs movies, right?” 

Nicole pauses, sends them an icy look.

“Especially,” she adds, “when you can come here and look between the bars.”

“Oh, it’s not…no...we found your, uh, your puzzle box thingy,” Waverly blurts, embarrassed. “We just came here to ask you about it, that’s all.”

This explanation, however, only seems to make things worse.

With a sharp laugh Nicole shakes her head to herself. “No.”

Waverly and Wynonna exchange a confused glance.

“No?” Waverly asks, unsure at the increased confrontational edge to Nicole’s tone, though she can hardly say it is unexpected - she and Wynonna are doing a horrible job of this.

“No,” Nicole repeats, voice ominously steady. “You came here to ask me about Hamunaptra, about the city.” 

Immediately, Waverly has the instinctive urge to hush Nicole lest anyone overhears them speaking about the Lost City. Immediately, however, she sees the notion as absurd - there is almost no one around to hear them. 

Still, Waverly is almost certain that Wynonna didn’t mention the true nature of their visit to the prison earlier. She doesn’t want the staff to send them packing for wasting time by quizzing their prisoner about what they’ll only see as a fairytale.

Everyone has heard some tale or other about Hamunaptra and scarcely anyone thinks the story is anything but laughable.  

“Ssh, please,” Waverly implores, leaning even closer to the bars so she can whisper. “How do you know that the box leads to Hamunaptra?”

After rolling her eyes slightly, Nicole obliges and drops her voice. “Because that’s where I was when I found it.” 

Waverly feels her eyes widen. She scans Nicole’s face, trying to work out if she is being toyed with. Before she can go on, though, Nicole’s attention wanders as she angles to look at Wynonna instead. 

“You know, I’m sure we’ve met,” she says, an unreadable look on her face, probably as she remembers whatever events had lead up to Wynonna taking the box. “Do I know you?”

Wynonna pretends to think for a second, convincing absolutely nobody in the process.

“Nope. Don’t think so. I probably just have one of those faces.”

At this, Nicole makes a sudden movement towards the iron door as if to look closer. On instinct Waverly and Wynonna crane back slightly.

Immediately, Waverly realises how rude this is and it is clear Nicole has noticed it too. Her face falls, the marks under her eyes seeming even darker.

Waverly does her best to press on, hoping at the least to ignore further discussion on Wynonna’s misadventures. All three of them would be talking all night if that particular conversation started up, and Waverly has no desire whatsoever to stay in this prison for any longer than necessary.

“You’ve actually been there, to Hamunaptra?” Waverly asks, still suspicious.

Nicole grins, catching Waverly’s eye yet again with a steady gaze. For a moment, Waverly forgets that she has the power to look away, floundering instead like a fish tempted by an opalescent lure.

“Yeah,” Nicole says eventually, still not breaking eye contact. “Yeah I was there.”

She is so assured, so confident, that Waverly almost believes her instantly.

Finally, Waverly blinks and looks elsewhere.

“Do you swear?”

“I’ve been known to on occasion, yeah” Nicole says with a small, melodious laugh. The smile that accompanies it is pleasant - more than pleasant - now that it has some genuine humour to it, even if it is at Waverly’s expense.

“No, I didn’t mean that I - ”

“I know you didn’t, but it’s not exactly a laugh a minute in this place so let me have this,” Nicole tells her, back to being gentle. Waverly still isn’t really sure why Nicole is giving them such a courtesy. “You meant whether I was being serious about the _City of the Dead_.” 

Nicole pitches her voice slightly as she references Hamunaptra, like everything is _ever so spooky_. This time though, the nonchalant humour is met with a slight twitch of her jaw and it tells Waverly that this isn’t half as funny to Nicole as she is trying to imply. 

The nonchalance makes Waverly a little prickly, but not so defensive that she won’t ask the most important question -

“Do you think you could, maybe, tell me how to get there?”

Much to her annoyance, her voice is small and shaky as she leans closer to Nicole, hooking the fingers of one hand around the bars. She tips her head, getting as close as possible without actually resting her head against the door.

Nicole snorts. “Really? You _really_ want to try and go there, after all the stories about it? How people die before they even make it halfway?”

Waverly bites her lip for a moment, because at this point both she and Wynonna have their minds set on proving the city’s existence and there’s very little that could be done to change their minds. 

As evenly as possible, she says, “I really want to know, yes.”

“And you haven’t found the map yet?”

Waverly bristles at the suggestion.

“Of _course_ I found the map,” she replies with a disdainful sniff. “But suffice it to say that it...is no longer in our possession.”

Silently, Nicole bites the inside of her cheek in deep thought. She doesn’t speak for long enough that Waverly starts to worry but then, suddenly, she seems to come to a decision.

In the absence of a guard - they are all still dealing with the scuffle across the room - Nicole leans fully against the door of the cell.

“You sure you want to know?” she asks again, smiling almost incongruously. Waverly realises with a jolt that Nicole, now armed with some kind of plan, is allowing herself to ease into the back and forth, to _enjoy_ it even. 

“Yes,” Waverly replies again, soft and breathy as her heart threatens to beat out of her chest. 

Without warning, Nicole closes the gap between them so fast that Waverly thinks for one absurd moment that Nicole is going to embrace her in some way. Indeed, her brain slows down in confusion and struggles to immediately process Nicole’s intent.

Rather than anything so laughably improbable, she instead latches a strong hand around Waverly’s wrist. It catches Waverly by surprise and she cries out on instinct, her skin tingling beneath Nicole’s fingers. The guards notice and are on them in a moment, giving Nicole time to make a single request in a harsh, hurried whisper:

“Then get me the hell out of here. _Please_ , Waverly Earp.” 

The guards shove Waverly out of the way like she is a ragdoll and swarm around Nicole, manhandling her away and down the corridor. 

Tutting and shaking his head, the warden appears at Waverly’s side as he speaks to Nicole’s retreating back. 

“Apparently, she had a _very_ good time.”

 

 

 

 

 

Getting someone off a charge of ‘public indecency’ is, as it turns out, harder than you’d think. Who knew? 

Well, as it happens - Waverly knew. 

Granted, the most she’d ever done before was sweet talk Wynonna out of the local police station holding cell after too many whiskey shots in a place with _entirely_ different views about drinking. Still, it was all much of a muchness.

‘Public indecency’ covered a multitude of sins, but between the mutterings of various prison officials (‘unnatural’ and ‘disgusting’ and ‘improper’) and the way Nicole had looked at Waverly with her eyes afire, Waverly thought she had a good idea of what had probably gone down. Jokes aside.

Either way, it was enough to have people idly throwing round talk of capital punishment, even though there was absolutely no basis for that in the law (not that half the guards here to seemed to care for such trifling matters). 

Nicole clearly hadn’t murdered anyone and she didn’t deserve to die in that place. She probably didn’t even deserve to _be_ here (certainly not for the incident in question), not that Waverly knew enough about Nicole Haught to make such a judgement.

In fact, Waverly couldn’t even really work out what Nicole would be doing in the ass-end of Cairo anyway. She can only think that she is a lone traveller, out on a gap year of sorts.

The only thing Waverly can say for sure is that it is glaringly obvious that Nicole shouldn’t ever have been put in that prison. The fact that she couldn’t be charged with anything is unquestionable, and clearly the guards know that the misconduct lies with them.

The officials she deals with barely conceal their nervous glances when Waverly cheerily suggests that they explain which charges, _exactly_ , they’d be pressing.

But even with this ammunition, in the end it all comes down to the same old story: money and notoriety. They are a potent combination and are generally known to work wonders. 

Although both are in much shorter supply for the Earps than in the past, they still have enough cash and enough clout. Even if Waverly does have to preemptively spend next month’s wages to keep a total stranger from getting hanged or something equally absurd. 

The thing is, Wynonna did steal from Nicole so it is probably largely fair. 

(Plus, Waverly needed her to find the Lost City. This, however, seems a far less moral motivation and she does her best to bury it while she signs the necessary paperwork.)

Things move fast once money has changed hands.

They are standing in the lobby when they hear a procession of footsteps and spot Nicole being frogmarched to the exit, an aged but huge canvas haversack tucked awkwardly under one arm.

Nicole and Waverly’s eyes connect across the room and Waverly can’t help but smile, proud of her efforts. Nicole looks shell-shocked and even paler than earlier, fresh bruises blossoming on her neck where there hadn’t been any before. They look so painful that Waverly’s eyes water.

Nicole manages a small smile, but looks away before any further contact can pass between them. Then, in the blink of an eye she is ushered out of the door, the guards looking grim and businesslike when they return - as though they have dropped off a bag of trash and not rightfully released a human person.

Waverly watches out the window as Nicole’s back disappears into the evening gloom, her heart sinking. It plummets entirely when she and Wynonna then hurry outside and, impossibly, Nicole is nowhere to be found.

Waverly feels both angry and shocked at this turn of events, hardly wanting to believe that Nicole had really slunk off into the night. 

After all, they’d had a deal.

 

 

 

 

 

The note comes unexpectedly the next day, posted under the door of the tiny second-floor flat Waverly shares with Wynonna.

The building is old-fashioned and their front door is accessible directly by a steep set of steps with a quaint black bannister, creeping plants wound around the painted metal.

The writing on the torn scrap of paper is slanted and small, and the message itself is frustratingly brief and vague.

 

_The prison, even outside, isn’t the place for any talk you don’t want going further._

_If you don’t have the map anymore then it’s not something I can tell you, the desert is too uniform. I’ll have to show you instead._

_Be at the port at Beni Suef a week from today. Pack light – you’ll thank me when we hit the desert. We sail at 6PM._

_NH_

 

The note is more curt than expected given that Waverly has just helped to save Nicole from further time in prison.

Paper scrunched in her hand, Waverly barges into Wynonna’s room and snaps the blinds open to wake her sister up. Sunlight streams in and Wynonna swears colourfully before trying to bury her head under a pillow.

Waverly tosses the cushion aside and flops onto the spare slice of Wynonna’s bed, thrusting the tiny scrap of paper over.

“You’re not going to _believe_ this.”

Wynonna blinks sleep out of her eyes and then reads the note with a neutral expression.  

“Damn yeah,” she begins and Waverly anticipates an enjoyable shared diatribe. “Beni Suef huh? That’s going to be a nightmare of a journey at that time of day.”

Wynonna raises her eyebrow, playing with Waverly on purpose.

“ _No_ you ass,” Waverly cries, snatching the paper back. “We just saved her life and this is _it_?”

“They weren’t gonna hang her, there’d have been too much political backlash.” 

“We just got her out of prison then,” Waverly amends smoothly, “and all we get is a note?" 

She throws her hands up in exasperation.

“Honestly? I’m pleasantly surprised.” Wynonna says before noting Waverly’s unimpressed expression. “Oh come on. Last night we thought she’d made a run for it. Well, _you_ thought that - I didn’t say anything of the sort. And yet it’s taken her less than a night to find us – that’s some good work.”

This, at least, was fair - even if Waverly doesn’t want to admit it.

She had waxed lyrical the whole way home about deception and underhandedness and immorality while Wynonna just smiled gently, letting Waverly get it out of her system.

Wynonna, by comparison, had said little on the matter, insisting only that it would ‘all work out fine’. 

“What must it be like to be an oracle?” Waverly jokes, earning a mock sigh from Wynonna. 

“It is a burden. But seriously Waves, I know her type – old-fashioned, chivalrous; a _narc_ ,” she says the word with theatrical distaste. “Her word is gospel, old money you know? She’ll come through.”

While, internally, Waverly has to concede that Wynonna probably has a point, she won’t let that stop her grumbling about it.

In fact, she grumbles for almost non-stop for the next week as they prepare; there is, after all, plenty of things to grumble _about_.

A week isn’t nearly enough notice to gather her most relevant research and source all the tools and supplies she’ll need. She spends the next seven days rushing about like a fly, buzzing from place to place without respite.

The curator is none too pleased at her sudden request for a sabbatical, not least because he suspects exactly what is behind Waverly’s upcoming absence. His condition is that the library is returned to its former glory _and_ her regular duties are brought up to date, and Waverly knows he is stating terms he does not believe she can fulfil.

He is, therefore, quite disappointed when Wynonna comes through to help meet the demands, leaving Mr Elmasry in no position to deny Waverly the study leave she requires.

There is no time to think, almost no time to worry, and even sleep must be stolen where they can. Time flies and, before they know it, the week is up and they are making their way to Beni Suef.

Waverly can’t deny that she feels a thrill of excitement as the near the port, but she cannot help but feel overwhelmingly nervous too. Whether this is because of the trek that awaits them, or because this might come to nothing if Nicole doesn’t show up, Waverly cannot say.

When they arrive at the port it is, as ever, bustling with activity. They find themselves dodging dawdling groups of travellers, walking slowly in their little packs as they look for the right boat to board. Vendors call out, trying to sell their wares, and many approach the sisters directly in order to offer the best bargain. More than once, Waverly and Wynonna have to double back on themselves as they search for their boat in the hubbub. 

It doesn’t exactly help that they have no idea of their precise destination, but the flow of traffic means the boats are staggered and so, with more than a degree of difficulty, they eventually find the six o’clock sailing.

There is no sign of Nicole when they arrive with half an hour to spare, and Waverly shifts anxiously from foot to foot as they wait. Minutes drift slowly by, and Waverly begins her litany again, barely in full flow before Wynonna grows tired of hearing the same complaints again and cuts her off.  

“Waves, just consider yourself lucky she’s helping us out, okay?” Wynonna says, when Waverly has deconstructed the short letter for the hundredth time. “And I’ll consider myself lucky if she doesn’t punch me in the face for stealing from her." 

“I’m just saying, I don’t like how it comes across; ungrateful and rude and - ”

“Christ that person sounds _awful_ ,” a voice behind her says and Waverly whirls around, cheeks aflame, to find Nicole standing there, holding the same haversack as before. She grins knowingly. “I hope that’s not somebody I know.”

“Oh I uh,” Waverly flounders, shocked at just how different Nicole looks now that she is out of the prison.

Perhaps she shouldn’t be so surprised - it is seldom likely that you will find someone looking truly themselves after an unexpected stay in a dirty old jail cell. 

Either way, Nicole looks better - healthier, even - in just this short space of time alone. 

Her hair is washed and cut short, just grazing her jawline, and the shorter length means that it has sprung up into gentle waves. Her pale skin, now scrubbed clean and with only the faintest remnants of any bruises, looks so soft against the pure white of her cotton blouse that Waverly kind of wants to reach out touch.

She realises that she has been staring and blushes further, cheeks already hot in the evening sunlight. 

 _Why_ she wonders in frustration _have I spent half my time around this woman blushing like a kid?_

“Um. Hi,” Waverly finishes lamely, having absolutely nothing else more inspiring spring to mind. ( _Ah_ , she thinks _that’s probably why_ ). She has already embarrassed herself enough, without making some stupid remark about how nice, how achingly _pretty_ in fact, Nicole looks now that she is free.

“Hey,” Nicole says back, that all too self-satisfied smile still on her face. There is no sense of panic in _her_ demeanour Waverly realises suddenly, unsure of why she is so ill at ease. Her stomach is in knots, and all she can put it down to is apprehension at the unknown that awaits her.

The three of them stand in a silence which doesn’t fail to be slightly awkward.

“Shall we board?” Nicole asks eventually, checking her watch. “I have the tickets. Best that I got them after that bail money, huh?” she asks, still grinning as if this is all something of a joke. The good feeling is gone as Waverly bristles at the distinct lack of any ‘thank you’ being tagged onto that sentence.

Nicole’s amused demeanour worries Waverly as she trots along behind her across the pontoon. They’d made a very much non-binding agreement with absolutely no prior knowledge about each other.

This is reckless and ill-advisable at the very best. It is downright dangerous at worst. 

In fact, Waverly even worries at the strength of her gut feeling that Nicole is trustworthy. She thinks of herself as a good judge of character, but she also knows that Nicole was in a desperate situation. She’d probably have done anything to get out of prison.

Waverly certainly would have lied, begged, borrowed, or stolen to get free.

But while Waverly would have some sympathy if this was the case, she does not wish to waste her time - and her money - on some potentially dangerous wild goose chase across the Egyptian desert.

Mulling this over, she watches Nicole as she walks ahead, now chatting easily with Wynonna. This action alone sends a ripple of something unidentifiable through Waverly, as though even _seeing_ them slip into a workable back and forth is an affront. How can they immediately feel so at ease while she, Waverly, lags behind consumed by nerves?

Because, gut feelings to one side, Waverly has no idea what foolishness has lead her to trust _anyone_ this fast, let alone a woman she met a week ago, dirty and dishevelled in an old prison uniform. 

Lost in thought, Waverly’s pace slows even further and Wynonna notices her falling behind. 

“Hey, you coming or what?”

Waverly jogs to catch them up just in time hear the tail end of Nicole and Wynonna’s conversation.

“Oh and Wynonna,” Nicole says, “I hope there are no hard feelings about the uh, you know, less than friendly atmosphere back...well, you know where.”

Laughing, Wynonna claps her on the shoulder. “Forget about it Haught. Trust me, it happens more often than you’d think.”

Nicole joins in the laughter, and Waverly finds herself marvelling at the sound of Nicole’s humour again before shaking her head to try and force some sense back in.

“Why do I have absolutely _no_ trouble believing that,” Nicole says to Wynonna, who simply rolls her eyes exaggeratedly.

The three of them trek up the sloped gangway to meet a waiting ship attendant.

Nicole steps up and hands over their tickets to him, laughing and joking in flawless Arabic while he tears each one in half.

Wynonna catches Waverly watching and snorts.

“Oh yeah you’re right babygirl. Ungrateful, _completely_ rude - there’s nothing to like there at all.”

Waverly glares at Wynonna.

“I meant it,” she insists with a pout. “I don’t like her attitude about this trip. She hasn’t even said thank you. I spent a lot getting her out of there.”

And yet, beneath the bravado, Waverly’s chest constricts when Nicole smiles down at her, holding the door open for both sisters. With her heart in her mouth, Waverly can’t help but wonder what the hell she has gone and let herself in for.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo [stubs toe] how was it? are you guys happy with that first encounter? i really, really hope so. 
> 
> thank you for reading and huuuge thank you to anja for giving this a once-over before i posted. 
> 
> as always your comments are deeply and wholeheartedly appreciated.
> 
> see you early next week - take care!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which our girls meet the 'competition', and probably have the worst boat ride since jaws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! i hope your mondays are going/have gone okay. i'm back on my usual posting schedule and feeling really positive about that. i've actually been dragging myself around in awful back pain these past few weeks and given that one of the only pain-free positions is laying flat out on my tum, that's meant a lot of time tweaking my writing and watching wayhaught scenes! so i'm all ready and prepared for an update.
> 
> thank you all so much for reading and leaving kudos/comments thus far. i'm happy now that nicole has met the sisters and its time for them to start strengthening their rships (my favourite part!). also, i'm doing my best to include all the characters in this fic (which i know i haven't quite done in past works). and i'd really like hear what you think of how i've introduced a few other regulars this chapter. as i think i've said, i'm trying to combine parts of the mummy returns with this plot so these minor tie-ins should become a little clearer in time but, like our little trio, i'm on my way now. 
> 
> that's all i have to say for now i think, with the exception of thanking the lovely anja for checking over most of what i write and trying to soothe my anxieties that it's all utter drivel.

After a time, Waverly quickly gives up on trying to find out where they are heading, because the question does not seem to garner a decent answer.

It is not that Nicole seems to want to be _deliberately_ vague, more that there is no sufficient answer to the question.  The city, after all, is lost and finding it seems to be far from a simple task.  

In the end, the only thing Waverly can surmise for herself is that they are headed southwards. This is not remotely surprising given their starting point.

Wynonna disappears to the bar as soon as she realises that there is one on board (a rarity on dry land but not so much on river cruisers or anywhere that might involve tourists), but Waverly isn’t really in the mood for a drink. She sits with Wynonna for a while and nurses a solitary soda water, while Nicole neglects to join them at all.

In fact she immediately excuses herself politely, almost as if she doesn’t want to intrude, and slinks off towards the seating area outside.

Waverly does her best to last out in the bar but the heat and the noise from rowdy patrons gives her a headache.

Soon enough, she finds herself following Nicole’s path outside to the quiet passenger deck, unsure as to whether she intends to join Nicole or simply find a spot of her own. 

She finds the open deck oddly deserted and spots Nicole easily by the bright red of her hair. She is at a secluded table at the very edge of the ship, right next to the railings. She slouches comfortably, her back against the boat’s barrier and her elbow hooked over one of the metal bars of the railings. She has one foot up on the empty chair next to her so that her knee is bent.

Waverly doesn’t give it any conscious thought but quietly - shyly, almost - she finds herself approaching the table.

Nicole has her head tipped back slightly, looking content to be out in the open as she stares skyward, but she doesn’t jump or start when Waverly speaks.

“Is it alright if I join you?”

Nicole smiles, nods, and Waverly takes the seat opposite her.

They sit in relative silence, except for Waverly’s further attempts to gain a rough travel itinerary from Nicole, who remains more interested in staring at the stars peppered above them. They twinkle merrily away, undisturbed by any light pollution out here on the Nile.

They have been sailing for at least three hours and are between settlements and Waverly, restless and frustrated, cannot help but ask -

“Well, can you at least look me in the eye and assure me that you aren’t just taking me for some kind of ride? Please, I just want to know this isn’t some elaborate joke.”

Finally, looking away from the stars, Nicole fixes her with an expression that practically has Waverly’s insides simmering. Waverly has no idea just how Nicole manages to do that, to convey so much through her eyes alone.

To her credit, Nicole at least ignores a double entendre that Wynonna would have leapt to take.

She gives a small, sad smile at Waverly’s question.

“Nothing about this is funny, so I’m not about to make it into a joke. What reason would I have to do that? You got me out of the second worst situation in my life…” Nicole tails off and, for the first time, Waverly sees her unwillingness to discuss prison and bail for what it is; shame.

Nicole, Waverly realises with a stab of guilt, is _embarrassed_.  

“Waverly,” Nicole goes on gently, “my whole garrison - my _friends_ \- believed in defending this region so much that we marched for weeks and weeks across the desert. Until we were ambushed, all I ever saw was sand and bones and blood.”  

Nicole stops abruptly and gives a small shiver, although the evening has not yet turned exceptionally cold. For the first time, her walls come down for the briefest of moments and her eyes grow distant.

Waverly watches, guilt growing stronger by the minute, as Nicole loses herself to some far off and apparently unpleasant memory. Waverly wonders if she would have even the first hope of understanding whatever terrible thing Nicole is recalling.  _Probably not_ , she decides after a moment.

She finds that she has to resist the urge to reach out for Nicole’s hand where it lays on the table.

Although she had wondered about it, she’d had no idea that Nicole came from a military background, much less that she’d been ambushed or attacked. It is uncomfortable to think that now, this fact is the sum total of everything Waverly knows for sure about Nicole Haught. This glimpse, she realises, isn’t enough - there needs to be more. 

She wants to know who Nicole is, wants to understand what happened to her, but they are perfect strangers and Nicole is clearly hurting. It would be inappropriate to ask for more.

And yet, it is absurd that they are sat here together, perfect strangers, heading into the unknown. They are going to have to trust each other implicitly over the coming days and weeks and they have barely even talked. 

Still, with the pained look currently on Nicole’s face, Waverly assumes that the conversation is over. Then, after a lengthy pause, Nicole speaks again.  

“I stumbled upon your city by accident - I’d never even heard of it until I got back to something akin civilisation and asked the question. I’m lucky I asked the right person - most people out in the desert don’t seem to even want to talk about it. I can’t say I blame them.”

Again, she shivers slightly.

“I took the box because I needed to know what i experienced wasn’t a mirage, I had to know the heat hadn’t made me lose my mind. There was - shit, I don't know what to tell you, Waverly. There’s something _wrong_ with that place.

Even the men who wanted my life thought so. They took one look at their surroundings and scarpered. Hardened fighters, all of them, and they wouldn’t spend even a minute there to shoot me and be done with it. I can’t think of many places I’d want to return to less than Hamunaptra.”

Waverly keenly watches Nicole’s face as she speaks (it is not deliberate, but she cannot tear her eyes away) and she knows beyond any doubt that Nicole is telling the truth. There is something behind her eyes that cannot be invented, cannot be played up - Nicole is suffering.

“But - ”

Nicole laughs and the sound is harsh; ugly and slightly wet around the edges.

“Why am I going back then? I gave you my word I’d take you out there and in return, you did something huge for me. Something I _will_ reimburse you for - monetarily - the instant we get back to Cairo. I could never break that agreement, not with you.”

Waverly blinks and tries not to wonder what that means; _not with you_.

“Sorry,” Waverly replies quietly, ashamed of her doubts and lack of trust.

“Don’t be,” Nicole says simply. “You had no reason to trust me, and rushing off was as much about my pride as it was our privacy. This isn’t a huge deception, okay? We’re gonna work together so we have to just - I don’t know, be real with each other I guess. And if we _are_ being real? I can promise you I’ll look out for you both while we’re out there, but I _can’t_ promise you’ll find whatever you’re looking for.”

She doesn’t ask what it is that Waverly wants out of this expedition, but the unspoken question hangs between them nonetheless.

Heart in her mouth, Waverly feels that she owes Nicole at least some explanation. It is hard _not_ to tell someone why you’re dragging them back into what seems like their personal version of hell.

“I’m hoping to conclusively prove that the city exists...and that it’s the home of a specific artefact.”

Nicole gives her an appraising look but doesn’t ask about the artefact itself. “So you’re a scholar too, huh?”

Again, there’s a level of subterfuge behind their interactions, but Waverly understands the question Nicole doesn’t quite ask.

_Another Earp out to make their name._

Only, Nicole doesn’t say it like the all the others - there is no scorn or disdain in her voice, only mild interest. Biting back the well-cultivated defence mechanism that years of hostility has fostered, Waverly answers as simply as she can.

“Not just yet, but that’s the aim. But trust me, being an aspiring academic with the surname ‘Earp’, I know how predictable it all sounds. The legacy is more of a curse than a blessing these days. No one will accept my research proposals. They just keep fobbing me off, saying I don’t have enough experience in the field.” 

Given that Nicole has told her that she was ambushed in the middle of the Egyptian desert, these complaints seem a little washy even to Waverly’s own ears.

Unperturbed, however, Nicole just snorts and nods in agreement. “Being an Earp in academia sounds _just_ like being a woman in the force. Or the military. But trust me, you’re going to get more than enough _experience in the field_ before this trip is out.”

Not for the first time, Waverly considers the gun on Nicole’s belt.

“Nicole, am I missing something here? I - I mean, you don’t have to go into it, not if it’s too dif- ” carefully, Waverly inhales. “It’s just that it almost seems like we’re going towards a battleground of some kind. Is there something I should know?”

Waverly half hopes for another nonchalant laugh, an eye-roll even, but Nicole is deadly serious in her response and her tone chills Waverly in a way the night air has not yet succeeded in doing. 

“It definitely won’t hurt to be prepared - not out there. There’s...something waiting, I’m sure of it. I know that sounds crazy but it’s like it’s just beneath the sand or something.”

Waverly wets her lips as she tries to process this reaction from Nicole. I was decidedly not the one she had expected, but it is increasingly clear that whatever happened to Nicole has left her shaken.

Sure, there were superstitions surrounding the city and its curse - but you would be hard pressed to find many ancient artefacts or sites that _didn’t_ have some urban legend attached to them. Of course there had been rumours about Howard Carter, Lord Carnarvon, even Wyatt himself but Waverly rarely heard anyone speak so candidly about it all.

Their father did, of course, and it was what eventually got him kicked out of the academy and the discipline. Well, that and the drinking. People had been even less informed about that kind of thing in Ward’s day. 

Waverly finds herself torn, as she has many times before on this subject. On the one hand, she grew up with the stories her father told her. In fact, her Uncle Curtis even told her a tale or two when he thought Aunt Gus wasn’t listening. Many of these stories were treated as canon, as gospel, and sometimes even an inquisitive comment from a young Waverly on the logistics of it all was enough to set Ward off, depending on how frayed his temper was. 

But then there was her training, the stuffiness that sometimes came from bookish scholars for whom the mere mention of curses and superstition was a source of hilarity and nothing more.

Waverly had known a few such scholars, and she had never produced such good results under their tutelage as she had for the tutors who had been younger, more energised, more open-minded.

But even these archaeologists kept a set distance from too much superstitious chatter - there was still a status quo that even _they_ couldn’t upset just yet.

The child in Waverly almost _wants_ to believe in superstitions, the archaeologist in her just wants to do what she loves. It makes it hard, sometimes, to know how to interact with anyone who feels they can speak so candidly about a cursed, supposedly mythological city.

So, panicking slightly, she tries for reticence first. After all - wouldn’t it be foolish _not_ to test the waters first?

“So you’ve heard all the silly superstitions about the curse and the vengeful mummy too?” 

Waverly tries to keep her voice light, as though she thinks the idea absurd. Truthfully, she isn’t so sure that she convinces anyone.

At the last minute, she winces as she realises how insensitive that might sound to someone who clearly believes they have experienced something inexplicable. Nicole, however, doesn’t seem to mind.

“You don’t believe in curses, huh?” 

She asks the question playfully enough, like Waverly has issued a challenge. Under this tone, however, is a timbre to Nicole’s voice that once again implies that Nicole might just believe in such things.

“I didn’t say I don’t believe in curses necessarily,” Waverly replies cautiously as she bites her lip, loathe to commit herself one way or the other. “I just don’t know that I believe in _this_ one.” 

This makes Nicole grin that typical, lopsided grin of hers.

 “So you believe in curses – ” Nicole begins, one eyebrow raised in a playful challenge.

“Might,” Waverly amends. “I might believe in curses.”

“So you _might_ believe in curses, but you’re absolutely certain that the infamous ‘City of the Dead’,” she adds in the quotation marks, using her fingers and a fair amount of feeling, “couldn’t possibly be guarded by the curse of a really angry mummy?”

Finally, Waverly smiles as she begins to feel a little more playful. The conversation has settled between them, still intense, still loaded, but now on steadier ground.

“What, like you’re absolutely certain it _is_ guarded by one?”

Nicole considers this for a moment, biting her cheek again. She isn’t deliberately fixing a gaze on Waverly this time, but is rather staring in her direction whilst in deep thought. Nonethless Waverly still feels the intensity of Nicole’s expression down to her toes. She has to resist the urge to shift in her seat while Nicole thinks. 

“Hell, why not? I’m an open-minded kind of girl. It’s supernatural central out there in the desert - why shouldn’t there be an undead mummy too? I mean, empirically speaking there’s about fifty-fifty evidence for and against, right? I mean - as much to say it exists as to say it doesn’t?”

Waverly doesn’t know exactly what to say to this, not least because Nicole probably has a point.

Mostly, she wants to say that Nicole is brave, that she has never heard anyone talk like that since her father. She wants to say that it has been a long time since she has met anyone so keenly, comfortably _themselves_ and that it’s kind of throwing Waverly for a loop.

Nicole doesn’t seem to care if Waverly thinks that her standpoint is absurd, she seems only to care about being true to what she experienced (or, at least, what she believes she experienced). 

Then again, there’s kind of a ‘no harm, no foul’ element to all this. Nicole might be going against what society wants her to say, but what does it really matter if, ultimately, she is wrong? She knows Waverly is hardly going to tell anyone about it either way. 

“I guess we’ll just wait for that empirical evidence then,” Waverly decides eventually, crossing her arms. “I’ll believe it if I can see it.” 

Nicole looks as if she is going to respond, to make some sensible point about how visibility does not necessarily equal reality. But then, at the last minute, she decides against it.

What she says instead throws Waverly off course for what feels like the hundredth time this week.

“Waverly, I need to tell you I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry? What for?”  

Waverly feels her heart start beating faster, suddenly nervous that Nicole might be about to tell her that, for whatever reason, none of what she has promised will come to fruition.

“For being standoffish when we first met, for being defensive and proud. And for, you know, the whole personal space thing.”

_ Oh _ . That.

If she is honest, Waverly still feels hot and anxious even recalling the moment Nicole had pressed against the bars of that cell door, leaving both of their faces barely two inches apart. She still feels absurd for imagining that Nicole was leaning closer for  _ any  _ purpose other than to lower her voice and ask for help.   

Even so, this isn’t really what Waverly had expected Nicole to apologise for and she can’t help but raise her eyebrows. Arms still crossed, she squares her shoulders.

“S’fine,” she says casually, trying to hold some ground. “You know, if that’s _really_ what you’d call an invasion of space.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth she regrets them on a number of levels.

First off, it means that Waverly was now the one who was being standoffish - Nicole’s apology had been genuine, and Waverly finds herself struggling to understand why she keeps forcibly inserting her foot into her own mouth whenever she tries to speak to Nicole.

On top of that, the words come out as something of a challenge - not that Waverly had intended anything of the sort.

Instantly Nicole’s eyebrow climbs upward, her lips pressed together in new smile that Waverly hasn’t seen yet as if Nicole, assured and light-hearted, is telling her _challenge accepted_.

Something twists in Waverly’s stomach, a flurry of butterflies swarming in nervous knots around her midriff.

“Next time, I’ll have to put my money where my mouth is, huh? Speaking of which -”

“Sorry -  _ next _ time?” Waverly asks, irritated that she even sounds flustered. She isn’t here for, well,  _ that _ . If anything, this is pretty much a business trip. 

A strange, unorthodox business trip yes, but a business trip nonetheless.

Nicole doesn’t register the interruption and continues talking. . 

“ - we should probably see who your sister has tried to fleece at poker tonight. If she tries any funny business this time, I hope to God she has a good escape route planned.” Nicole pauses, thinking to herself for a second. “I guess if things get bad there’s always the river.

 

 

 

 

 

They find Wynonna with a group of men at a table near the bar, unsurprisingly deeply ensconced in a card game. Not for the first time, Waverly wonders how Wynonna so often manages to ingratiate herself with her fellow bar patrons.

Waverly is friendly - she is renowned for the trait in fact - but she doesn’t think she’d even know where to start in this kind of scenario.

Waverly and Nicole stand behind Wynonna, watching as a man with dark hair slowly and deliberately cleans his glasses. The group is clearly waiting on him, and eventually another man a few seats down loses patience.

“Will you quit playing with your glasses and just deal the cards, Levi?”

Slowly, the one called Levi puts his glasses back on, reaching for the deck.

“Well without my glasses, Red, how am I supposed to see the cards to deal them?”

Red huffs, snarks back, and this starts a more generalised bout of interjections from around the table. 

As everyone squabbles, Wynonna turns around and speaks to Nicole.

“Haught, sit down - we could use another player and I know Waves hates cards.”

Nicole shakes her head. “I don’t gamble, not if I can help it.” 

“If you can help it?” a voice asks, and they look up to see the only other woman at the table watching them. She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, revealing a hooped earring that glints silver in the light. She doesn’t look to be playing cards but instead seems to be surveying the men with a detached, haughty indifference. Her expression gives Waverly the impression that she would rather be anywhere else.

“Haught here has more of a habit of gambling with her life I'd guess,” Wynonna says absently, checking the hand she has been given.

“I’d hardly call it a habit,” Nicole says quickly to the unknown woman who looks faintly amused for a moment but says nothing more.

This earns a decent scathing guffaw from Wynonna but before she can speak again, someone else beats her to it.

“What would you say if the stakes were really good? Say, a thousand dollars good?”

The voice, although far from loud, has enough clout and gravitas to draw the attention of the whole table and, when she picks out its owner, Waverly can see why. She finds herself looking at a man who, even at first glance, has a quiet eeriness to him. 

His appearance alone is unsettling in some inexplicable way - there are odd white patches in his dark hair and beard, although he does not look anywhere near enough to be going grey. They seem to be there for effect only, because it certainly isn’t the current style (hell, it isn’t even a past style). He is sporting a thick coat that is wholly inappropriate for the setting, but the heat of the bar doesn’t seem to be affecting him in the slightest.

From the look on her face, Nicole clearly feels a certain caution about this man too. She dismisses his offer without a second thought.

“Not interested, sorry.”

“But you haven’t even heard the stakes yet.” The man is confident enough in his demeanour that he keeps his voice soft and ominously low.

He doesn’t wait for any of them to speak before he lays out the wager in full.

“If you make it to Hamunaptra first you get a thousand dollars. If we beat you, you owe us.”

Nicole’s eyes narrow. “You’re looking for Hamunaptra?” 

“Damn straight we are,” the man called Red butts in happily, his eyes back on the poker game, which has resumed in earnest.

Nicole ignores the bet entirely in favour of asking, “and what makes you think we are?”

Half the table indicate in Wynonna’s direction, speaking in unison. 

“She said so.” 

Both Nicole and Waverly glare down at the top of Wynonna’s head. She does, at least, have the good grace to look slightly bashful. Drink has given way to loose talk, and, from the slightly thunderous look on Nicole’s face, it won’t do to have these guys (and woman) as company for their journey.

They are a mish-mash bunch and Waverly struggles not to jump to conclusions. It is difficult though, seeing all the men sat around drinking and leering at them; they just seem to give off an air of suspicion.

The one Waverly presumes is the ringleader speaks directly to Nicole again.

“So. Now that we’ve established that, is it a bet?”

Waverly fully expects Nicole to refuse, and her mouth drops open slightly when she gives the opposite response.

“Okay, you’re on,” Nicole tells him with a curt nod, not missing a beat. Waverly goes to object, but Nicole silences her with a single, grim look.

“What makes you so confident?” asks a mustachioed man sat between Wynonna and the merry band’s solitary female member. When he speaks, it is with a remarkable Southern lilt. Then again, Waverly realises suddenly, most of them share the accent.

Nicole shrugs, playing it nonchalant and trying to avoid answering first. “Well, what makes you?”

“We got one amongst us who’s actually been there,” says a slack-jawed, messy-haired man, and Waverly struggles to keep up with them all. “Bobo over there,” he nods at the leader and Waverly suppresses a snort at the name.

“ _ Carl _ ,” the leader - Bobo - growls, a warning that Carl should definitely stop speaking.

For the moment, Waverly forces herself to ignore the fact that this guy actually seems to be called  _ Bobo _ . 

“Well, what a coincidence,” Wynonna begins, more drunk than Waverly had first assumed, “because Haught here h- ”

 

 

Before she can finish her sentence, Nicole knocks into the side of Wynonna’s head with her pack and silences her. It is less than subtle, but Wynonna had already said enough and the damage had been done either way.

“Well then, it looks like we’ve got ourselves nice a wager,” Nicole says quickly. “Goodnight everyone, and you, _Wynonna_ ,” she squeezes a hand on Wynonna’s shoulder, gripping _hard_ ; a warning to Wynonna to her to keep her mouth shut from now on. Nicole quickly takes her leave back out onto the deck, Waverly following a mere pace behind.

“This is bad, isn’t it?” Waverly asks urgently the second they are alone. “They’re criminals, robbers, aren’t they?”

“Bad? Possibly. Criminals? Almost certainly, yeah.”

Waverly’s heart sinks. “They’re gonna get to the city before us, and try and find all the lost treasure for themselves.”

She’ll never find the artefact, the book, now.

Without hesitation, Nicole puts a gentle hand on Waverly’s arm. 

“Hey,” she says, brow wrinkling in concern at the panic showing on Waverly’s face. “I know it’s easier said than done but try not to spiral over this. Have a little faith - it’s gonna be okay.”

Waverly scoffs, not out of ill-feeling but thanks to a sad thought that, in recent times, very little has just ‘been okay’ for her or for Wynonna. Why should this be any different?

“You can’t know that,” she says, suddenly growing tearful and feeling pretty mortified about it.

 _God, what must Nicole_ think _of her_?  

Nicole smiles, expression soft and somewhat enigmatic. 

“Maybe not - but there are some things I _can_ know. For example, I know how to get to the city and I know I’m gonna get you there fast _and_ safe.” She pauses, visibly chewing over her next words. “I also know, or I can tell, that you’ve got a lot riding on whatever you’re looking for out there. From what little I remember from school, you Earps live and breathe this stuff, right? 

Let’s start at the only place we can: you trusting me to get you there. Then, when it’s down to you, you can worry okay? But only a tiny bit.” Nicole grins wryly as she removes her hand from Waverly’s arm. “I won’t allow any more than that.” 

Waverly takes a deep, steadying breath. This warmth is as new as it is unexpected and Waverly can’t help but wonder at the depths hidden beneath Nicole’s exterior. This woman is very different to the one who had joked about bail and curses, and Waverly is struggling to keep up.

“And what if that’s the problem? What if, in the end, it’s me who can’t pull through properly?”

This is not something Waverly had intended to ask, it had slipped out unbidden between her lips as she fought against the emotions ploughing through her. Nonetheless, the thought has been on her mind since she had helped free Nicole from prison. 

Nicole’s eyes go soft at the edges and Waverly’s stomach twists again.

This is a small moment, really, given the potential of what is to come but - already, less than six hours into the journey - something shifts. Waverly thinks that both of them sense it.

Nicole presses her lips together in the expression of someone about to say something weighty.

“Here’s my less than expert take on this. In the space of one week you: freed an unknown woman from prison, prepared everything you would need for a desert expedition, _and_ you willingly boarded a boat to an unknown destination in complete and total good faith.” Nicole stops suddenly, bites her cheek against a smile. “Well, partly in good faith, partly with a healthy dose of seething suspicion,” she amends.

She does not seem remotely hurt by the implication, but Waverly is mortified that is has all been so obvious from the very beginning.

“Nicole I - ”

Nicole holds up her hand.

“I’m saying that as much out of inference as direct evidence, don't worry. I’d be suspicious too. But what I’m trying to say, Waverly Earp,” Nicole drops her voice so that Waverly has to crane closer to hear her, “is that it seems to me that you’re a woman who knows how to go out and get what she wants.”

The words settle on Waverly’s skin like morning dew and suddenly it is her turn to shiver. The night is finally cooling now and if she feels self-deceptive enough, Waverly can blame the tremor entirely on the temperature.  

Being so close to Nicole, she catches a scent that she can’t quite place; musky and earthy and probably definable only as _Nicole Haught._

After the fact, Waverly thinks of a hundred different responses ranging from _I guess that’s for me to know and you to find out_ to _well_ _, when I really want something you’ll know._

In the moment, however, what comes out of her mouth is - 

“I, uh. Yeah maybe that’s true - I hope so.”

Her immediate response is to want to scream in frustration - one of the things she prides herself on is her ability to be articulate. She has written countless papers, articles, and little pieces for the museum. She has delivered masters talks. She is meant to be good at this. Tonight, however, she can’t seem to get a grip on her words and the only solution seems obvious - get out of there fast, try again tomorrow.  

“Thanks,” she says, hoping there is a decent note of finality in her voice. “For the talk, that is.”

“Any time. Open for continuation at any point - now even, if you wanted to buy me a drink.”

Nicole speaks softly, scarcely an edge of suggestion in her voice. Waverly can tell that she isn’t really expecting anything from the invitation. This is reassuring at least, given that Waverly cannot for the life of her understand what has her so shaken up tonight, what has her acting so unlike herself. She had known that she was nervous about the high stakes of this expedition, but she hadn’t realised it was quite _this_ bad.

“I’m really sorry, I was just thinking - if we have a competition on our hands now - maybe we should turn in? Oh - I mean, _all_ of us, you know? You, me, and Wynonna.”

There was no need to clarify her point and Nicole’s responding grin makes this very clear. Kindly, she does not remark upon Waverly’s seeming inability to shut the hell up tonight.

“Somehow I don’t think we’ll be dragging your sister away from her new friends any time soon, but you’re right. Sensible idea - we should be well rested.”

 _Well rested_. Those were the words Waverly wished she had chosen.

“Sorry,” she apologises again, for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

Nicole shrugs, looking unperturbed and genuinely confused. “It’s fine. Some other time.”

It is not a question, that much is clear.

They stand for a moment in silence, their parting moment feeling awkward as it sometimes does between new acquaintances.

“Okay,” Waverly says eventually, “goodnight then.”

Nicole smiles and then, surprisingly, turns on her heel in the direction of the bar. 

“Sleep well, Waverly.”

 

 

 

 

 

 _Sleep well Waverly_.

What an utterly _absurd_ notion Waverly thinks to herself once she is secluded safely in private quarters. As if she will sleep when she feels as though she has been completely turned upside down and rearranged.

Even with her eyes lead-heavy and sore, there is little chance that her brain is going to shut itself off without a fight. 

It is a relief, at least, to be alone for a time, safely shut away in the cabin she is meant to be sharing with Wynonna. There is no potential for embarrassment for a while, no possibility of stumbling over her words and looking like an idiot.

It is nice, too, to be dressed in comfy sleepwear, as her body finally succumbs to the events of the day. Cool cotton sheets and a passably comfortable bed beckon to her and it is a remarkably pleasant thought, even assuming she’ll be tossing and turning.

Either way, she has no hope of uninterrupted sleep tonight because Wynonna, clumsy and loud, will inevitably roll in late. Still, Waverly can’t bring herself to mind.

She potters about absently on her nightly routine, dousing herself in bug repellent - which is as unpleasant as it is necessary. They might have a cheaper, indoor cabin but this is the Nile and she isn’t taking any chances.

She leaves the bottle on the bathroom counter for Wynonna - it will be bad enough if she wakes up with a sore head tomorrow, let alone if she is also covered in angry red bites. 

The time it takes for the foul-smelling spray to dry gives Waverly a moment to wander aimlessly around the tiny room and drift to the mirror opposite the bed. She busies herself with moisturising, detangling her hair, anything that doesn’t involve thinking of Nicole.

The woman is something of a puzzle to Waverly, and Lord knows she liked to solve things. 

Then again, the joy was never so much in the solving as in the learning along the way.

It is easy to see that Nicole is deliberately sectioning herself off, only letting Waverly and Wynonna see the necessary fragments. The Nicole the sisters had seen first was the one they needed to believe could get to Hamunaptra as agreed; competent, collected, confident enough to accept a bet from a group of terrifying strangers. Nicole at the port had been nonchalant to a fault, trying to pass things off as fleeting, inconsequential. 

But Waverly of all people knows a well-placed mask when she sees one.

There is more to Nicole, their conversation on the passenger deck is evidence of that, and by God Waverly aches to know.

Quite _why_ she cares so much remains another unsolved mystery, however. She supposes it has a lot to do with their arrangement, with having to literally trust Nicole with their lives.

She is lost as she tries to solve, to _learn_. She is stuck, thinking about that deep, perceptive gaze Nicole seems hellbent on turning on Waverly near-constantly, and her lapse sends her hairbrush clattering to the floor.

She ducks to pick it back up, chiding herself out loud as she does.

“Heavens’ _sake_ , get it together - it’s not like you’ve got _any_ cause to keep thinking about her like this, not w-”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish her sentence because instead she finds herself screaming, kind of like a baby actually, which would be embarrassing if her heart wasn’t threatening to beat right out of her chest.

Upon standing, she finds herself facing the mirror and, by extension, the reflection of one of the men from the bar. He is so close behind her that, once she is upright again, she can now feel the heat of his body.

The man - she recognises him instantly as the one called Carl - doesn’t say anything, even when she cries out, but rather he stares and smiles in complete silence.

The shock of it all is like a lightning bolt through her, and the retrieved hairbrush drops back down to the floor for second time.

Never before had Waverly truly understood the notion of being frozen in fear, but as she watches the reflection of the man in the mirror, she cannot seem to force her body to react. She wants to scream again, she wants to run away; her brain is crying outat her to just do _something_ but, externally, no physical reaction seems to be forthcoming.

Before she gets the chance to unstick her throat and ask the man what he is doing - before she can register exactly how horrifying the potential outcomes of this situation are - the man draws her attention to the weapon in his hand. 

He grins wider, demonic and hungry, before reaching around her body and bringing the long, terrifying blade of a knife to Waverly’s throat.

“Borrowed this’un from Jack,” he tells her, words slow. “So unless you want to know just how sharp he keeps his knives, you better tell me where the map is.”

Waverly’s heart beats impossibly faster. This is not a demand she can meet.

“I don’t have it,” she gasps, scared to move against the cold metal pressed against her neck. The slightest constriction, even in speech, leaves the knife biting at her skin.

At her words, Carl brings the blade even closer, hard enough to really hurt, and Waverly imagines it must have broken the skin by now.

“Not good enough.”

“No, God, please. I’m telling the truth. We had it, okay? I’m not pretending we didn’t have it. But my boss, he destroyed it. It was an accident.”

She prays that Wynonna doesn’t choose this moment to walk in, because not only will Carl almost certainly slit her throat open but Wynonna will be in danger too. Waverly trusts Wynonna to handle herself, but the odds aren’t great given the number of men who are, presumably, on Carl’s side.

With an annoyed growl, Carl considers what she is saying and Waverly prays he is at least slightly smarter than he looks because it would make no sense for her to lie. They don’t need the map, not when they have Nicole. Anything in their possession is of minimal value (they’re not even carrying much money – what the hell are they going buy in the goddamn desert?), so there is little sense in robbing them. Even Carl must know this. 

Loathe as she would be to sacrifice an important piece of history, Waverly knows in that moment - with cool steel pressed against her neck - that Carl would assume that she’d give the map over to save her life. 

“Fine. Then where’s the key?”

“It’s – wait, wh-what key?” 

Before she can find out, however, a set of footsteps clatter down the hall and Carl spins them both around to face the open door, knife still at Waverly’s neck.

“Waverly!” the cry is urgent, and a moment later Nicole appears, gun in hand. “Get the _hell_ off of her,” she snarls when she sees them both.

Instead, Carl brandishes the knife.

“Don’t come any closer,” he warns and Nicole stops advancing towards them. “I’ll do it - I’ll cut her throat.”  

Nicole sighs, looking as though this ultimatum is frustrating more than terrifying. Waverly cannot say she agrees with that assessment. “Come _on_ man, I really don’t want to shoot anyone but I won’t ask you again.”

“You wouldn’t da-” Carl says right as Nicole pulls the trigger. He howls in pain as a bullet lightly grazes him, and he releases Waverly on instinct. He clutches at his injured shoulder but it is clear the bullet has not penetrated because it slams directly into the mirror behind them. The glass shatters, shards flying to the ground and landing around Waverly’s bare feet.

“I did try to warn you,” Nicole says, sounding only marginally bothered about her actions. 

Carl snorts, audacious - or perhaps idiotic - enough to backchat the lady with a gun pointed at him.

“You missed.” 

“Unlike you, I’m not out to kill anyone if I don’t absolutely have to,” Nicole says bluntly, lip curling in distaste. “But if I were, then trust me when I say that you wouldn’t still be upright right now.”

Nicole speaks so coolly that the remaining colour drains from Carl’s face, even as a tiny red patch blooms on his shirt. He makes the sensible decision to try and scarper but before he gets anywhere, Nicole delivers an almost-automatic punch square to his face. Just like that, he _is_ on the floor - completely out for the count.

Waverly tries not to gape at Nicole but that was… _ wow _ . Impressive didn’t even begin to cover it. Nicole hadn’t panicked, she had barely even flinched, and Waverly was undoubtedly still alive as a result. 

Then, the collected demeanour is gone, and Nicole steps further into the room. 

“Did he hurt you?” she asks, voice softened with concern as her eyes dart over Waverly, checking urgently for signs of injury.  

Waverly tentatively examines her throat. It feels grazed but there are no substantial amounts of blood present.

“No,” she grits out. “No, I’m okay. Thank you - I’m pretty sure you literally just saved my life.”

Nicole smiles, lets out a terse breath, and Waverly sees now that there _are_ tiny signs of fear written all over Nicole; tight jaw, clouded gaze, a single clenched fist at her side.  

They stand for a moment, both breathing perhaps a tiny bit heavier than usual, but Nicole does not make any moves to come closer. It is almost as if she is working to keep a respectful distance.

Then, only after the first buzz of adrenaline dims ever so slightly, Waverly realises that she is only wearing her sleep shorts and a flimsy cotton bra (billed online as a sports bra but, upon arrival, useful for nothing more strenuous than sleeping). Embarrassed, her first instinct is to grab a t-shirt, but before she can move Nicole yelps and Waverly flinches in response.

For the second time that night she gives a startled cry. “Shit! What now?!"

“Don’t move,” Nicole points to the ground and at the shattered remnants of the mirror. “The glass, remember? Here, let me help you. But we have to be quick. When Stupid Carl doesn’t come back they’ll send someone who’s partway competent. I really, _really_ don’t want to shoot anyone properly.”

Nicole darts to the bed Waverly had claimed and where her bag is still laying, open, on the comforter. She haphazardly pulls a first a shirt and then a pair of socks out of the bundle of clothes within. 

In the meantime, the adrenaline continues to drain from Waverly’s body and she feels her hands start to shake.

“Why the hell did he do that? Why did he come searching for some kind of key?” Waverly mutters, not really expecting any kind of answer.

“No idea,” Nicole says grimly, “but it’s clearly not safe for us here. We’ll hole up in my cabin if necessary - safety in numbers and all that.”

She steps closer with the first of Waverly’s clothes. “And there’s definitely nothing you can think of that might be some kind of weird key?”

Waverly shakes her head, gratefully accepting the fresh shirt. Nicole hovers while she dresses, waiting to pass on the socks. 

There’s a palpable but ineffable atmosphere as Waverly pulls the shirt over her head. She thinks that it might be the sum of many parts put together. At the forefront of her own mind is relief, pure and deep relief ballooning in her chest. She thinks she can see it on Nicole’s face too - they haven’t known each other long enough for Waverly’s demise to mean that much, but there would surely have been some level of guilt in Nicole’s mind if she had arrived too late.

Nicole doesn’t say much, but she still looks slightly tense as she watches the door which is still flung open after Carl’s surprisingly stealthy entrance. Still, she is patient as Waverly struggles to wrestle her shirt on over the bra, her whole body seemingly in tremors now after the attack. 

Waverly tries for a laugh but it falls somewhat short. “Thank God you’re not a dude, right? Or this would be awkward.”

Nicole doesn’t say anything in response, just smiles that wry, knowing smile of hers. Silently, she offers Waverly a shoulder to brace herself upon, so that she doesn’t fall over putting on her socks. 

Nicole goes back for a better pair of shorts, but Waverly stops her.

“I’ll take my bag with me.” 

At least partly, she is thinking of stripping off to her underwear right now and concludes that she has had enough humiliation for one night. Nicole is being perfectly kind and, Waverly knows, would avert her eyes just as much as she had done already, but Waverly can’t bear standing in this circle of glass any longer.

Nicole nods, a brief, strained look passing over her face as she goes to retrieve a sturdy pair of black boots from the door.

“I just...really don’t want to be here a second longer, you know?” Waverly clarifies quickly and Nicole’s expression fades a little.

Again, Nicole helps Waverly balance and, once her shoes are on, she can walk across the fragments of glass to tie the laces somewhere marginally more safe.

Waverly is aware of how ridiculous she must look in her half see-through white tank top (it’s practical for the desert heat, okay?), powder green cotton sleep shorts, and those damn boots. Still, it's not worth worrying about right now.

She just about has time to pick up her bag before, suddenly, all hell seems to break loose somewhere above them, roughly in the vicinity of the deck.

A flurry of shouts filters down to them, and there is a faint popping that might even be shots fired.

They share wildly differing looks - Waverly’s horrified and Nicole’s exasperated - before turning in silent agreement and heading in the direction of the commotion. 

“Oh God,” Waverly says, struck suddenly with panic. “Wynonna’s up there.”

“I’ll make sure she’s alright,” Nicole assures her. “But maybe you should…I’ll get the key to my cabin for you.”

Mingled in with her panic, Waverly feels a barb of irritation; she doesn’t need to be coddled. Okay, granted, Nicole had just encountered a scene which implied the precise opposite, but Waverly hadn’t exactly been _prepared_ for such a sneak attack.

“I can look after myself, Nicole. And I can look after my sister too.”

Nicole blinks, looking confused and thrown off course.

“I know,” she says matter-of-factly. “But you’re not armed and it sounds like everyone else is.”

 Waverly throws her a guilty sideways glance as they dash down the corridor and towards the narrow staircase that will bring them back up to the deck.

“Neither are you. Well, barely anyway,” Waverly points out, softer this time - an apology. Nicole, God bless her, seems to understand that. 

“Left my pack right by the door in my hurry to get down to you. It clatters like hell and I needed the advantage.”

“Yeah, how _did_ you know about that?”

“Time and place right now?” Nicole asks, grinning. 

“Yeah well I might get shot in a sec. Humour me.”

“Half those guys aren’t smart; I caught two of them talking about it at the bar and I just made a mad run for it. Thought I was going to be too late, actually.” 

There is a strange, regretful timbre to Nicole’s voice when she says this.

Something hits Waverly, hard, in the stomach and she is stunned into silence. What can you say to something like that? Nicole had come to save her without even a second’s thought.

Perhaps fortunately, there is not time for further discussion as Nicole leads the way up to deck, gun at the ready. They burst through the door and find the group of men from the bar causing havoc. Quite why - or _who_ \- they are fighting isn’t really clear but, from what Waverly and Nicole can see, the deck is a mess of upturned tables and shattered glasses already.

“We need to lie low somewhere,” Nicole decides immediately, “which is easier said than done given that this is a boat.”

“They wouldn’t be after us specifically though, would they? Aren’t they just a group of louts causing trouble for the sake of it?”

Nicole shakes her head. 

“That Carl dude clearly thought you had something he wanted, something he was willing to kill for. I’m not going to take any chances. Stupid Carl probably couldn’t even have organised a piss up in a bar - no, this is all the ringleader’s doing.”

They are not yet fully upon the main deck - they would need to round a corner to be completely visible, and Nicole uses the bend for cover. She looks to Waverly for a moment.

“Keep close to the wall, I’m not going far.”

Nicole darts towards the nearest table (one of the few still upright) and plucks her bag from where it sits. All told, she is back beside Waverly in a few seconds.

“I need you to hold this for a sec.”  

She pushes the bag in Waverly’s direction. It is hard and heavy and, when it knocks Waverly painfully, she can assume a lot about its contents.

Waverly huffs but wraps her arm around the pack. “ _Jeez_ well since you asked so nicely.”

Ignoring her, Nicole reloads her gun almost leisurely, barely flinching when stray bullets ping by. A few land dangerously close to Nicole’s head and eventually Waverly can’t stop herself from physically manhandling Nicole further out of the way.

Nicole gives the bullet holes an impassive, almost bored look before readying her guns and indicating that Waverly should shelter behind her. 

“Good to go?” 

Waverly doesn’t really know how to answer that - there is nothing good about this situation - but there isn’t much choice so she nods.

Together, they step into the fray.

 

 

 

 

 

A single storey beneath the carnage Carl stirs with a groan, momentarily oblivious to the attempted diversion upstairs. The men do not know yet that their distraction is in vain. Groaning at the matching pains in his shoulder and head, he scrabbles to a sitting position.

Cursing the woman who had laid him out cold, he is about to cut his losses and make a break for it when something on the floor beside one of the cabin’s twin bed calls to him. It must have fallen out of the younger Earp girl’s bag...

He sees it and his eyes light up. That should be enough to earn some praise from Bobo.

“ _The key_ ,” he murmurs, reaching out from his spot on the floor to pick up the little inscribed box.

His hand just closes over his prize when the door bursts open.

“ _Waverly?_ The whole bar’s gone crazy and someone said they heard shots down here. Please tell me you’re alri– ”

The woman from the poker game meets Carl’s eye.

“Where the hell is my sister? You better not have touched her or I will make you suffer.”

With a frustrated cry Carl dismisses her. “Yeah, well get in line lady because the ginger woman got there first.”

Wynonna heaves a sigh of relief and, for the first time, notices what Carl is doing.

“Hey, that’s _mine_ ,” she says indignantly, wrestling the box out of his hand. They grapple unimpressively for a second until Wynonna, with the distinct advantage of being upright, wins easily.

Never one to miss out on the fun, she delivers a well-measured kick and, for the second time that night, Carl is out cold.

“That’s for whatever you tried to do to my sister, idiot.”

 

 

 

 

 

Things start out bad, but they quickly go to very, very bad instead.

Evidently with a hiding place in mind, Nicole successfully manages to get them across the deck without catching a bullet but, before she can do much else, some idiot manages to shoot a switch box and, improbably, it sputters into flames.

“Oh yeah,” Nicole says with a groan, “that’s about right for the kind of day we’re having.”

The flames spread quickly – clearly the boat isn’t especially fire retardant, health and safety regulations being what they are.  Whatever ‘fun’ Bobo and his gang had been having, the rest of the passengers have yet another reason to panic.

Just as rapidly as some quick-thinking individual can douse the fire with an extinguisher, it begins fanning outwards again.

For a moment, Waverly and Nicole watch in stunned silence.

“They’re _idiots_ ,” Nicole hisses under her breath.

That much Waverly can agree with, although once again she finds herself confused at how Nicole can stay so calm in such a potentially dangerous situation.

Most pressing of all, though, is that Waverly has to find Wynonna.

Belatedly, she remembers her phone charging downstairs and she curses her stupidity for leaving i behind.

As luck would have it (and Waverly immediately recognises this as perhaps the only time they will have any good fortune for the entire trip), Wynonna quite literally stumbles into them a moment later.

“Waves, thank God,” she cries once she has her bearings, throwing her arms around Waverly for a brief hug. Wynonna turns to Nicole second, bumping her on the arm. “And Haught, I hear you swooped in and helped my sister? Thank you.”

Nicole brushes off the gratitude with a degree of awkwardness, mumbling that it was nothing.

“How do _you_ know about that?” Waverly asks again and, this time, it is Wynonna who scoffs at the timing.

“Please, let’s do this when we’re anywhere that isn’t literally on fire.”

“Yeah, our options are pretty thin on the ground,” Waverly points out and Wynonna sighs.

“Look, long story short I heard shots and went to check on you. Carl from the bar was there, trying to steal our box and calling it a key.” Wynonna says with a snort. “Stupid Carl, this isn’t a –” she breaks off, noting the look that passes between Waverly and Nicole.

“Okay, that’s definitely something for another time,” Nicole decides.

“So what do we do?” Waverly asks, panic building as she feels the sting of smoke starting to settle in her eyes and at the back of her throat.

“I don’t bail easily but I think it’s time we jumped ship,” Nicole suggests and for a moment Waverly thinks she’s joking.

“You’re not serious, are you? The currents are too strong.”

“Well do you have a better idea?” Nicole looks out at the water. “It’s calm enough out there tonight, we’ll make it just fine. But there’s no way they’re getting that,” she points at the fire, now engulfing half the deck, “put out properly before the boat starts going down.”

“Aren’t there lifeboats or something?”

“Waverly look at the age of this boat there are barely fire extinguishers. People will be lucky if their life jackets haven’t disintegrated. Besides, we don’t need to make it far, just to the nearest bank.” Nicole quirks an eyebrow in challenge. “Unless you can’t swim?”

Waverly gives an indignant cry. “Of course I can swim! You know, if I absolutely have to.”

Truth be told, Waverly didn’t especially _enjoy_ swimming.

Wynonna is at the railings already, box firmly clutched in one hand.

“Babygirl, I think this one of those times. Let’s get outta here.” Wynonna looks to Nicole, who nods before divesting Waverly of the bag full of ammunition and goodness knew what else.

Wynonna has already descended with a whoop and an ungraceful soldier dive as Nicole slings one leg, then the other, over the bars. She pauses there, turning back to Waverly expectently.

“Come on,” she says urgently. “I got you – it’s gonna be fine.”

Waverly isn’t even particularly scared, not really, but the complete unexpectedness of the whole ridiculous situation has her stalling. Around her she hears a large number of individual splashes as people begin following Wynonna into the water. 

Waverly is struggling to fathom how she could possibly have found herself in such an absurd situation. She should be at home in Cairo right now, glass of wine in hand as she applies for yet more fellowships she’ll be rejected from. She shouldn’t be standing in her pyjamas on a burning a boat while an almost-stranger coaxes her to jump into the dangerous waters of the Nile.

Nicole gives her a look, concern mingled with amusement, and Waverly realises a part of Nicole is actually enjoying this.

Nicole holds out her hand and Waverly sets her jaw.

 _Christ alright then._  

She squeezes their hands together and, on Nicole’s count of three, they jump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo in my mind, college!waverly definitely had a crush on one of those more ‘open-minded’ (female) tutors but she didn’t know how to conceptualise it in her own head and thought that she just really really admired said tutor bc she was smart and successful. (@ younger waverly - it can be both!!)
> 
> anyway as ever please please do let me know what you think! every comment really does make me feel like i'm doing a good job, and it really helps my writing process just to know that people are reading and engaging. i really do want to reiterate just how much it means to me that you guys take the time to read and respond to what i write so, if you can, please do just drop a comment at the bottom. 
> 
> thank you guys!! take care and all the best until next week - have a good one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which i start up the first of (far too) many pre-dating cliches, add in a new nicole backstory out of pure wish fulfilment until the shows gives nicole the attention and character building she deserves. 
> 
> just this chapter to go before our girls hit the desert!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! like boring and predictable clockwork i am back again for your monday update of wayhaught meets dumb mummy movie fare. 
> 
> it's quite hard knowing how much to diverge from the original movie sometimes with this, and i wanted to contextualise more of how our adventurers actually make it to their destination, if for no other reason than to give them a chance to bond! i didn't think the little snippets the movie gave us of rick, evy, et al's travels fitted our heroines, so i have tried something a teeny bit different. i would love to hear if you think it worked or not! 
> 
> anyway, i feel like i don't really have any more waffling to do for a change, so i'm just going to move straight onto the chapter. i really hope you like it!

The water isn’t drastically cold, but it is certainly jarring enough as it swirls around Waverly’s nose and mouth, cloudy with mud and moss and goodness knows what else.

She takes a moment to gather her bearings, disorientated by the descent but thankful, at least, that she didn’t seem to break anything on impact. The darkness doesn’t help matters as she treads water, although the light from the fire sears unpleasantly through the gloom.

She struggles in the water with the weight of her bag, and a moment of panic passes as she drifts in the current. She can only be grateful that the water is with them, convinced she would not have fared well swimming against it.

A moment passes before Nicole appears at her side with a gentle hand at Waverly's elbow.

“Okay?” she asks with a smile that Waverly can’t help but return. Nicole is quite a sight with water dripping down her nose and strands of red hair plastered to her cheeks.

“Yeah, fine it’s just…” Waverly struggles for the words.

“Surreal?” Nicole offers and it doesn’t quite cover the full extent of the situation, but it’ll do. Waverly nods and Nicole speaks again. “Come on, let’s get to the bank. I don’t want to take my chances in the water longer than I have to.”

They follow in Wynonna’s wake as they paddle ungracefully to the bank, both somewhat laden down with bags and heavy shoes. 

Nicole seems much less hindered by her own, much heavier pack and Waverly feels rather inadequate as she struggles to keep up.

She feels the bag dragging her down and it almost seems inevitable when the strap slips between her numb fingers. She scrabbles in the water for it, swearing as she does.

“Shit, shit, _shit_.”

Nicole starts. “What? What is it?”

“My bag,” Waverly gasps out, panicking about her belongings but equally keen that Nicole doesn’t start worrying over non-existent crocodiles.

“Crap, ok, just - keep going for the bank.”

Without further warning Nicole ducks below the surface and out of sight. Waverly shouts for her, and the thought of leaving doesn’t even cross her mind.

Nicole is gone for so long that Waverly starts to consider going down after her, but at the last minute Waverly feels movement around her legs and, finally, Nicole reappears.

She emerges right in front of Waverly, her eyes squeezed shut and a strand of some sort of river weed in her hair.

Nicole wipes her face, opens her eyes and reorients herself, jumping slightly when she finds herself face to face with Waverly.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Waverly. I couldn’t get it.”

Waverly’s heart sinks as fast as her bag, but her sense of relief that Nicole is okay is stronger. She stares at her for a moment, trying to figure out the woman in front of her. Nicole had been so willing to put herself at risk, first for Waverly herself and now for something as trivial-seeming as a bag of clothes. The only person who had ever acted so fiercely in Waverly’s favour was Wynonna and they were sisters; it was different. But this, Nicole, didn’t make any _sense_.

Nicole misreads Waverly’s silence. “I’ll try again, but I think it’s too deep now.”

“No!” Waverly scrabbles at Nicole arms before she can make another dive. “No, please don’t - it’s not worth putting yourself in danger.”

Nicole nods, checking Waverly’s face. “Okay, if -”

“I’m sure,” Waverly agrees, absently fishing the stray weed out of Nicole’s hair.

Nicole looks surprised for a moment, not having noticed the plant or anticipating Waverly’s movement.

They tread water and time ticks by.

“Okay,” Nicole decides eventually, voice quiet. “Let’s get to safety.”

They make their break for it, the riverbank getting closer much more quickly now that Waverly is unhindered.

As the water grows shallower and they have no choice but to wade through the thick silt on the riverbed, Waverly is content that they are safe as they can be in this situation. She finally allows herself to lament the loss of her possessions.

“We’ve lost everything; all the tools, all the equipment,” she says as she drags herself out of the water entirely. She shivers in the night air. “All my clothes.”

“Sorry,” Nicole replies again, voice sincere as she rings out the bottom of her shirt. It creases almost comically in the process.

“No it’s not th - you were amazing, thank you.”

Again, Nicole ignores the praise with an airy wave of her hand. She drops her own bag to the ground with a damp, squelching _thunk_ and immediately crouches down to pick through it. Under her breath, she grumbles about guns and the river not mixing.  

They have landed at a point where the river is narrow enough for them see the other side. It is faint in the darkness, but visible nonetheless.

With little else to do, Waverly watches as the men from the bar clamber out of the water. Many have bags with them and it grates on Waverly to see that _they_ have not lost their belongings. The group’s only woman is sat at the edge of the water very literally tipping water out of her boots, wearing a thunderous expression.

Bobo catches Waverly looking and grins, cupping his hands around his mouth. He calls over to them and, amazingly, Waverly just about catches what he shouts. The rest, she can infer.

“Hey, Earp – looks like you lost some of your things along the way.”

Waverly grasps for a response, but even if she had a decent comeback she isn’t sure she would get her voice to carry that far. Beside her, Wynonna flips Bobo off. In response, they see, rather than hear, a few of the men laughing.

Rising to stand, Nicole frowns.

“Ignore them,” she murmurs quietly. “They’re on the wrong side of the river anyway.”

She turns and traipses off and, with little other option, the two sisters follow her.

 

 

 

 

 

Somehow, with only the help of a rather soggy compass, Nicole finds her bearings. Waverly questions her about it as they all march, single file in caravan-style, along the riverbank. Nicole sets a fast pace but Waverly doesn’t allow herself to even think about how exhausted she feels, anxiety bubbling at the idea of being a weak link.

“They don’t post you in the middle of nowhere until they’re certain you know the terrain,” Nicole answers cryptically over her shoulder, without deigning to explain who exactly ‘they’ are. “Spent a _lot_ of time learning the lay of the land.

“Mostly they grilled us on the geography of the western desert since that’s where they dropped us, but my father always said that it never hurt to be prepared. So I learnt as much of the whole country as I could. Never thought it would come in quite this handy, mind you.”

Waverly shares an impressed look with Wynonna as they begin to understand just how capable Nicole really is. The realisation should have hit much sooner, granted, but better late than never.

A rather sorry trio, they walk for at least thirty minutes before lights start appearing in larger clusters on the horizon. The water has only just stopped sloshing unpleasantly in Waverly’s boots, and she spends most of her time batting off the mosquitos and midges that are drawn to her damp and softened skin.

Eventually, they make it to the outskirts of a tiny city that, even after years living in the country on and off, Waverly is ashamed not to be able to identify. It is quiet given the hour, but they find a bus route that is still running. Nicole, the only one of them with any hard cash on her, pays a single fare for each of them out of a small wad of sopping Egyptian pounds. This, plus their haggard appearance and Waverly’s attire, earns them an incredulous look from the driver. Still, he has the good grace to overlook it and keep silent, eventually delivering them safely to what must be the city centre.

Unsurprisingly, they cannot afford a room anywhere for the night (honestly, Waverly is just amazed that Nicole has any cash on her at all). With no other shelter available, they kill time at the town’s train station. It is inexplicably open, even though there are no passenger trains scheduled at this time.

It is blessedly deserted, however, and they are all grateful for the opportunity to regroup and assess their odds.

Probably the best news is that Wynonna had her cell phone on her when the fighting broke out.

The phone itself is useless, completely destroyed by the river, but she is in the habit of keeping a bank card tucked between the back of the phone and the plastic patterned case.

She had spied a solitary ATM on the way in and wanders off to withdraw as much money as she dares. Waverly and Wynonna can, at least, restock on clothes and supplies of unappetising long-lasting food items. Nicole still has her all own things but, willing as she is to share both clothes and food, they wouldn’t last the three of them very long.

Aside from being stranded, the biggest problem at this stage is Waverly’s tools. She still feels a knot in her throat at the thought of having lost them. They would be expensive to replace and a couple of items had belonged to her grandfather and so had a sentimental value that could not be repurchased. Waverly feels guilty; as though, once again, she and Wynonna have let the family name down. The thought makes her want to cry and the only practical thing to do right now is bury it deep. There will be time for this later.

Waverly blinks her eyes hard as she and Nicole sit side-by-side on the hard, uncomfortable station seats. She cannot help but feel hyper-aware of her clothes yet again, given that they are especially inappropriate out here in public.

Nicole glances at her, seeming to sense the tension, and catches Waverly staring down silently at her own bare legs. Wordlessly, Nicole offers out her damp jacket so that Waverly can at least drape it over herself to be covered.

Waverly accepts it with a small smile. The wet fabric feels pretty nasty on her skin, but the gesture is kind and helps alleviate this particular worry.

Eventually, Wynonna rejoins them and hands out a few notes to both Waverly and Nicole.

Initially, Nicole tries to refuse but Wynonna is persistent.

She drops heavily into the spare seat on Nicole’s right side and tosses the money into Nicole’s lap.

“I just withdrew a sickening amount of money from my bank account and I’d rather not have it all in the care of one person,” Wynonna explains and, finally understanding, Nicole carefully counts the money and puts it away.

“So I can make sure you get it all back,” Nicole clarifies when Wynonna raises an eyebrow.

There seems to be precious little to say as they all sit together. Nicole remains in still and silent thought while both Wynonna and Waverly shift restlessly in their seats.

Waverly can’t seem to keep a decent grasp on the passage of time, and it could be five minutes or fifty before she feels herself starting to drift into sleep. Even though it seems an unlikely reaction under the circumstances, exhaustion hits her with a vengeance.

It feels like a lifetime ago that she stood in that cabin, ready to curl up in bed.

In spite of everything that has happened (or perhaps because of it) she feels her head droop, the sparse and minor sounds from outside mingling obscurely with the fog in her head. She stifles a yawn, then another two, and starts mentally reciting the Pharaohs of the nineteenth dynasty to try and keep herself awake.

She gets as far as _Merneptah_ before the darkness swallows _Seti II_ whole.

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly’s eyes fly open some time later, heart thudding in a blind panic as recent events come flooding back to her. It is possible she was already having a mild nightmare about it all, so obscure it could simply have been a memory instead.

She gradually regains her bearings, and it takes a moment before she realises with horror that she has been sleeping on Nicole’s shoulder.

She jerks upright, causing Nicole to look over.

“ _Shit_ ,” Waverly mutters, palming at her eyes, “that’s so embarrassing. I’m sorry.”

Nicole looks bemused.

“No it’s not, don’t worry about it. I’m glad you managed to get some sleep.” Her forehead wrinkles in gentle concern. “It didn’t seem entirely peaceful though, if you don’t mind me saying. You okay?”

Waverly shakes her head slightly, trying to clear it and work out how she feels.

“Fine,” she decides eventually. “It’s just been a crazy night.”

Nicole laughs. “Yeah don’t I know it.”

“Did you...” Waverly gestures uselessly with her hands, brain to mouth channels still fogged with sleep.

“Grab a nap? No, but it’s okay.”

Waverly angles her head so she can read Nicole’s watch. Four-thirty. Crap, she’d been out for ages. The small chink of sky visible outside the narrow window is tinged with colour.

“I can take next watch, if you want? We can, uh, we can switch.” Waverly isn’t quite sure what she’d need to watch for, however. The place is still half-dead and they have almost literally nothing to their names.

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” Nicole says, manner evasive but not unkind. “Thanks, though – it’s appreciated. You can try and grab fifty winks more if you want, it’s no problem.”

Waverly considers the offer but sleep feels more distant now as she comes to. She is tired to the bone but paradoxically awake and alert. She knows that there will be no more sleep on the cards for now. Nicole nods in understanding when she says so.

“Where did Wynonna go?” Waverly asks, noting the empty seat.

“She couldn’t sleep and didn’t like just sitting here. She went for a wander. I told her not to but…” Nicole gestures vaguely.

“But she’s Wynonna.”

“Exactly.”

Silences between them don’t feel quite so taut anymore, and Waverly allows herself time to clear her head before even considering speaking again.

Meanwhile, Nicole - no longer on pillow duty - busies her hands with assessing the damage to her belongings. Apropos of nothing, and whilst staring into the depths of her bag, she says -

“Do you want to turn around and go back?”

Waverly blinks, unsure as to whether she is understanding the question correctly.

“I’m sorry?”

“This is kind of a huge setback Waverly. No one would blame you if you wanted to go home.”

The question floors Waverly for a moment because the idea hadn’t actually occurred to her. All of focus had been on how they can make up lost time on the way to the Lost City.  

“No,” she answers, voice so firm it surprises them both. Feeling fierce and determined all of a sudden, Waverly adds, “it’s not going to happen, seriously. I didn’t even think of it as an option.”

Waverly watches as Nicole’s cautious expression shifts and her eyes go soft – it is perhaps the most unguarded Waverly has seen her since their first meeting. She surveys Waverly with a strange, open look on her face like she is having some kind of deep realisation in this goddamn rundown, deserted train station. Not for the first time, Waverly feels like Nicole is seeing her down to the bone, but this time she does not want to run away.

_ Funny _ , she thinks,  _ how quickly you can get used to another person _ .

Waverly steels herself for a challenge.

“Okay then.”

“Look I – what?” Waverly does a double-take comical enough to make Nicole grin, revealing sweet hollows in her cheeks. Waverly hadn’t noticed them before but then again, Nicole hadn’t smiled that widely at her before either.

“I said: ‘okay then’. But you know I had to check, right?”

Waverly nods. Nothing in Nicole’s tone suggests she is angling for her own way out of the deal, and Waverly genuinely believes that Nicole was looking out for her. Nicole seems entirely unperturbed by this and suddenly something becomes crystal clear in Waverly’s mind.

“You don’t seem remotely shocked or bothered by any of this,” she says, looking directly at Nicole. “You knew it would be this tough, didn’t you?”

“Like I said; supernatural central. The city is lost for a reason – I don’t think anyone has ever found it without stuff going wrong.” Nicole’s expression turns bashful. “Sorry - does that even make sense? I just think that the going gets tough to make people give up. The upheaval is actually a part of the journey, like this stuff is what keeps the city a secret. Life, y’know? All about the trials along the way.”

“Well _I_ think you sound like a walking bumper sticker,” declares Wynonna, appearing in front of them with a grin. “If you two slowpokes want to get a move on, I found somewhere that’ll serve us coffee and something warm to eat in about half an hour.”

Nicole gives an appreciative moan and rises to her feet with a langourous stretch.

“Nice one Earp. Here,” she turns to Waverly and picks up a pair of pants which had been occupying Wynonna’s seat.

“I got these out earlier to dry a bit. They’ll be too long but you can roll them up, and it’s better than nothing before we can find somewhere that will sell us new stuff. At least you can go outside now.”

“There’s a bathroom at the other end of the station,” Wynnona says, pitching in. “I gotta pee so I’ll show you, then we’re all heading off for food _immediately_. I’m starving.”

 

 

 

 

 

If there was ever a time that Waverly had been more relieved to be appropriately covered, she can’t think of it. She could hear the sounds of the station gradually coming to life outside and is glad to be out of those damn shorts just in the nick of time.

She and Wynonna talk between stalls, Waverly quizzing Wynonna on where she’d been all night.

“Jeez _mom_ , nothing was open. I just wandered round. We can’t all go out like a light, and it was better than sitting there doing nothing. I’m sure Nicole would have agreed, had she been able to.”

“What do you mean?” Waverly asks, relacing her boots up to the newly rolled cuffs of the pants. Nicole was right - they absolutely swamped Waverly, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Honestly? I think she wanted to get out and stretch her legs too, but she didn’t want to move you.” Wynonna chuckles audibly to herself. “It was _hilarious_ watching her go all stiff when your head dropped onto her, like she was so scared to move in case she woke the Sleeping Beauty.”

Unbidden, Waverly’s brain throws up a picture of the scene Wynonna had described. It is lucky, really, that she is so hungry because it is easy to dismiss the corresponding twist of her stomach as little more than a pang of hunger.

She exits the cubicle as Wynonna is adjusting her hair in the sliver of glass that was meant to pass for a mirror, feeling uncharacteristically happy for Wynonna to chatter and fill any silences. By the time they arrive back, Nicole has made her way to the now-open ticket desk and is negotiating in rapid fire Arabic with the clerk. Looking disgruntled, he hands her three tickets which she tucks securely into her pocket.

“What was all that about?” Wynonna asks when Nicole makes her way over.

“We’re not exactly going to be taking a popular route. He thought we were clueless tourists and was trying to dissuade me from buying the tickets. He was trying to be helpful, I think, but he got kind of mad that I was being so stubborn about the purchase. Anyway, the good news is that I now have three _very_ undesirable tickets and we have until lunchtime before we need to use them.”

Wynonna leads them to a cafe, and they order drinks before taking seats outside. A lanky, teenaged boy who can only be the owner’s son darts about at his father barks commands at him. He produces two strong coffees and a herbal tea for Waverly, who he compliments grandly on her flawless Arabic when she orders her breakfast.

Waverly blushes at the boy’s obvious motive; she is no more or less fluent than her companions.

“You have an admirer,” Nicole observes good-naturedly once they are alone again. She doesn’t mean anything by it, but Waverly finds herself flustering to dismiss the notion with far too much speed and seriousness.

Across the table, Wynonna sends her an overt look which could be read by even a total stranger as: _‘what the hell are you doing?’_

It doesn’t help matters and Waverly just shakes her head dismissively, blowing on her tea. In truth, she doesn’t know the answer herself.

If Nicole notices anything amiss she doesn’t say so, just stretches out in her chair and tilts her face up to the morning sun, looking for all the world as contented as a cat on a warm windowsill.

Waverly studies Nicole’s face for a moment while her eyes are loosely shut. She notices, not for the first time, the proud angle of Nicole’s jaw; the way her features are all strong, like they’re etched in ink.

It _is_ the first time, however, that Waverly sees just how impossibly soft Nicole looks in repose (or the closest thing possible under the current circumstances). It doesn’t last nearly long enough for Waverly’s liking as their food is brought to them.

Ravenous, all three of them eat quickly and barely exchange a word.

By the time they finish, the town is awake. People start walking past as they travel to and fro for early starts, others call into the same cafe for a morning cup of coffee. A few feet away, market vendors begin setting up for another day of trading. Waverly keeps an eye on the wares as they are being brought out, longing wistfully for even just a few of her lost clothes.

Beside her, Wynonna drains her coffee and lays a few bills on the table; enough to cover all three meals. Nicole goes to protest again, but Wynonna silences with a single look.

“I got it,” she insists, rising and looking in the direction of the market. “Now get a move on, I want to annoy some street vendors.

If there was one thing Wynonna enjoyed, it was haggling.

 

 

 

 

 

The trip to the market does them all good, that much is clear.

They wander about companionably, pointing out various items and laughing at the patter of some of the vendors. They can’t really afford to buy a lot, both in terms of money and what they can carry on an expedition with them, but the distraction is much needed. Plus, it breaks down a few walls between them.

They alternate between browsing together and each bustling off for a moment or two to buy what they want and save time. 

Wynonna covers their non-perishables and treats them all to some fresh food for the train journey. Nicole surprises Waverly by returning from some solo shopping with not only the water they will need out in the desert, but also some new clothes for Waverly. Alongside a few long skirts obviously procured from the market, there are some more improbably sourced articles - a couple of tank tops and two pairs of shorts, one pale denim and the other a light, airy canvas material.

Waverly accepts them with gratitude, tinged slightly with confusion. She can’t offer Nicole anything in return for the clothes, at least not right now, and Nicole would likely have to go without a few luxuries of her own because of the expense.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nicole tells her, as nonchalantly as possible. She clears her throat. “It’s a gift, you don’t need to pay it back.”  

Still, Waverly wishes she could do something in return. It would have been nice to show that she appreciated everything Nicole has done in the last twelve hours.

Something between them has softened ever so slightly, almost literally overnight. Although Waverly can’t put her finger on exactly what has changed, she supposes that you don’t jump out of a burning boat together without bonding pretty quickly afterwards.

Nicole keeps an eye on her watch, and ensures that they are back at the station in time for their train.

As it turns out, her assessment that they are using an unpopular route was, if anything, understating things. When it arrives, the train is half-deserted, and its dirty, dilapidated appearance suggests that the vehicle is one that only gets rolled out for the quiet routes.

Trying to ignore the poor conditions, they clamber on board and eventually find seats that are partially clean and have most of the stuffing still on the inside, just in time for the train to start up and slowly pull out of the station.

Once they have rolled along for a short spell, Wynonna passes out a lunch in the form of the fresh fruit, nuts, and sweet and sticky _feteer_ pastries from the market.

Waverly eats slowly, picking at her food with her fingers as she stares out the window at the sun-bleached landscape rolling by. They are heading away from the Nile and soon the dried-out earth will give way to an ocean of sand dunes.

This train, she knows, will only take them so far and although Nicole hasn’t explicitly said so, their setback on the river will mean a longer journey across the desert. If that wasn’t daunting enough on its own, they are also racing against the band of men from the boat, with no idea what means they possess to get them to Hamunaptra.

If Bobo’s men win the race to the city, then they will plunder every bit of lost treasure, taking valuable history - and probably Waverly’s chances at a career - with them.

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to stop her mind from surging ahead of itself as it was often prone to do.

Wynonna, hearing the deep breathing, nudges Waverly’s knee with her own in a tiny but appreciated gesture. Waverly understands that while it is a command to stop overthinking, it is also a reminder that she is not alone.

She gives a small, tight smile that feels wrong on her face, and when she looks away from the window she finds that Nicole has been watching them from her seat opposite Waverly and Wynonna.

“There’s nothing more any of us can do until we get off this train,” Nicole reminds Waverly gently, and Wynonna shows her agreement with a deep nod.

“I know,” Waverly concedes with a sigh.

But not worrying was, after all, much easier said than done.

 

 

 

 

 

The train takes them much further south than Waverly had anticipated. In some ways this is a relief as it means covering less ground on foot.

However, the downside to the prolonged journey is that the train is not a fast one and a solid six hours cooped up in discomfort is actually kind of hellish.

They all grow restless at one point or another, although this time it is Waverly who first becomes peevish with the heat and her own tiredness. Usually one to sleep anywhere, anytime (one of the few Earp traits that Waverly had inherited but Wynonna had not), Waverly only manages to nap fitfully at best. With sleep evading her, she mostly just fidgets in her seat as she wills time to go by faster.

She thinks longingly of the trashy paperback in her bag, knowing it would have at least provided some small form of distraction. It is useless to her now though, drifting around on the bottom of the Nile.

Wynonna is the next of the group to experience a drastic nosedive in her mood, given that she has never been one to enjoy being hemmed in. After only a couple of hours she wordlessly and abruptly retreats to the row of seats directly behind Waverly and lays out flat on her back across them. Her feet poke off the end and into the aisle, so she props them up on the seat opposite.

Out of the corner of her eye, Waverly catches Wynonna glaring up at the ceiling, occasionally sipping from a bottle of scotch that she has somehow procured from the city.

(The question of how her sister always manages to buy hard liquor at least provides Waverly with some diversion for a short while. In the end though, it always comes down to the same thing: more so than anyone else Waverly knows, Wynonna is resourceful. Although, Waverly realises, Nicole could maybe scoop the title now).

Eventually, Wynonna’s eyes close and her body goes slack against the motion of the train, and it can only be assumed that - thanks to the booze - she is finally asleep.

Nicole, who seemingly still hasn’t slept at all, kindly retrieves the scotch from the floor and reattaches the cap to the bottle. She seems to be the only one faring decently against the sticky air and long journey, and Waverly watches the way her distant eyes seem to be somewhere else entirely.

The only problem with observing Nicole is that when her eyes suddenly refocus, she immediately spots Waverly looking. It should probably be mildly awkward to be caught in the act, if only Waverly had the energy left to care about it.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Waverly asks, trying for a joviality she hasn’t felt in days.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Nicole murmurs. Waverly thinks that this is probably an evasion tactic but she is curious enough that she lets it slide.

Waverly chooses her next words carefully.

“I was just thinking. You just don’t seem phased by any of this. Everything that’s gone wrong, every hardship that’s already grinding me and Wynonna down, is like water off your back - ”

“Literally,” Nicole interjects with an exaggerated grin.

Waverly groans. “Okay, that was absolutely _terrible_.”

Nicole pretends to wince but laughs instead.

“Ouch, tough crowd.”

Waverly lets herself chuckle for a moment.

“Okay but seriously. The boat was on fire, you weren’t worried. You lugged a bag full of guns through the river without a struggle, and when we landed in the middle of nowhere, you just walked to the nearest town without hesitating. Even now, I’m fit to claw someone’s throat out because I’m so fed up of this train but you just seem content to take it all in your stride.”

Waverly shudders to a halt, snapping her mouth shut almost audibly. She hadn’t quite meant to put it across like that and even Nicole looks shocked.

“Woah. Okay then.” Nicole takes a few deep breaths. “I think there’s a lot of pretty big questions in there,” she says gently, but she does not offer any answers.

Dejected and already irritable, Waverly elects not to push it further - her bad mood is not Nicole’s fault, nor is the goddamn snail-pace speed of this train.

Nevertheless, Nicole senses Waverly’s irritation.

“Sorry,” Nicole says after a while. “It’s just...been a while since anyone has taken an interest. Well, since there has been anyone _to_ take an interest.” She pauses, thinks, and visibly plans out her words a couple of times.

“Mostly, the answer to the question I think you're asking is my training. Really long story short: I wanted to be a cop pretty much from the moment I knew what that was, and I got accepted into the Academy right out of college. My mom actually died when I was sixteen, and Dad really didn’t want his only daughter putting herself in harm’s way for her job.

He didn’t take it well when I told him that, no matter how much I loved him, I couldn’t just give up on my dream job - especially not when I was so close. Since he also hadn’t taken the whole _Dad, I’m a lesbian_ thing brilliantly either, things just wound up getting kind of distant between us. Which is ironic, I guess.”

Nicole pauses for breath and Waverly doesn’t miss the brief but searching look she sends Waverly at the mention of coming out to her father. Feeling absurdly keen to avoid that particular kettle of fish at the moment, simply tries for an encouraging smile in Nicole’s direction. This seems to be enough, and Nicole goes on.

“Anyway, I don’t know if it was just because of how badly I’d wanted it but I just… did well at the Academy. Sorry, I don’t mean it as a brag - I don’t really know where it came from, hell maybe it was just luck. And when I finished top of my class, I got a decent number of job offers. More than decent, actually. But then I also go approached by this secret branch of the government.

“They went super round the houses about it, very hush hush kind of stuff. I shouldn’t even be saying this much about it, not that it matters now I guess. The easiest way to think of it is probably as a Special Ops type of thing, but with kind of weirder cases. So anyway, these guys offer up training, travel, adventure - the whole package - and it just seemed like a really big deal, you know? The kind you didn't turn down. They had a good sales pitch and I fell for it. I’d been with them a year or so when we got sent out into the desert. We were after a group of insurgents with tech way beyond their means.”

“Wait. Like in terms of too expensive or?” Waverly clarifies, her head spinning.

“No in terms of too alien,” Nicole says casually and Waverly tries not to do a double take. She is pretty sure that Nicole means alien in the extra-terrestrial sense, and suddenly her attitude to curses makes a little more sense.

“So you had to go into the desert to take it off them?”

“Not initially, no. We were just meant to be observing, or so we thought. But they - my bosses - threw us under the bus. They left us out there without sufficient intel or supplies so that when we got attacked we didn’t stand a chance. We all got separated and I got stranded in the middle of the desert. By rights I should have died out there but I wasn’t going to do that to my dad or my brother, even if we don’t really talk anymore. I got back to civilisation on foot, totally alone, and just by sheer strength of will I think. But I still don’t know if my friends did the same.”

Nicole finishes her story with a sad smile, and Waverly can only sit in stunned silence for a moment. She had expected something big, but not necessarily that big. Nicole had been trapped in the desert alone, and she had survived it.

Waverly can only imagine how much it took for Nicole to share that story.

“Thank you,” Waverly says eventually, voice heavy with gratitude.

“What for?”

“For trusting me enough to tell me that.”

Nicole smiles. “No, it’s fine. We gotta trust each other now right? We’re on this batshit journey together - you needed to know more about me. You deserved the truth.”

“No,” Waverly says with an emphatic shake of her head. “You didn’t owe me that and I shouldn’t have pushed. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You were bound to be curious and I wouldn’t have told you if I really didn’t want you to know. You can ask more questions, by the way.” Nicole’s grin shifts from impassive to teasing. “I can tell you’ve got like a hundred.”

Waverly shifts uncomfortably in her seat, guilty at how visible her curiosity must have been.

“I was just thinking about your friends. If they were on your team, then they stood just as good a chance as you right?”

The smile fades from Nicole’s face and Waverly immediately regrets the question.

“Maybe so, but either way I may never know. The department is maddenly secretive; it keeps its own facilities separate from one another and tries to keep its agents from getting too close. I mean, it tries to keep its agents distant at the best of times. I couldn’t even contact my old head office when I got back to Cairo. All I had was a dead line on a payphone because they probably disbanded the ops team when the mission went to shit.”

Waverly struggles to wrap her mind around this. “But you were one of them? Surely they’re out looking for you all?”

“I don’t know. I sort of feel like if they really wanted to find us, they could have. They have all the tech money can buy. But me? Hell, I didn’t even have a cell phone or a credit card on me when I went, what was I going to do with them in the desert? Anything superfluous weighs you down, so you leave it behind. The sat phone was with someone else, and I didn't have enough cash to buy a new phone when I got to Cairo. I couldn't even get a plane fare home, and it's not like I had a passport on me anyway. They left us up shit creek, and I think they knew it full well. They just didn’t care.”

With every passing moment, so much becomes clearer in Waverly’s mind. Even questions she had barely formulated were gradually being answered.

Nicole’s presence in the country, her “nothing to lose” attitude, her patience...it all made much more sense now.

“And your family?”

“No phone, no contact,” Nicole says grimly. “Then the whole prison thing happened and now,” she spreads her palms, “here I am again.”

This shocks Waverly, and she can feel it written all over her face. More than that, a barb of guilt sinks into her stomach and sticks there, heavy and uncomfortable.

“I need to get this straight if that’s alright,” she asks and Nicole nods. “You only just got out the desert?” Another nod. “And now you’re going right back?”

“It sure looks like it.”

“And it’s...all because of me?”

“I guess you could say that, yeah.”

Waverly stares blankly at Nicole as she answers without a hint of malice in her voice. Waverly cannot understand why Nicole isn’t angry, why she isn’t bitter and resentful and completely hateful towards both Waverly and Wynonna.

“Holy crap, Nicole. I’m so sorry - if I’d known…”

But Waverly cannot finish that sentence. There is an ugly voice in the back of her head, demanding to know how much she would _really_ have done differently had this all been prior knowledge.

She wants to think her drive and determination would have been tempered, knows deep down that they probably _would_ have been, but she is also aware of just how she gets when her mind is set on something.

Nicole shakes her head and when she speaks her tone is deadly serious.

“You got me out of a tight spot, one that easily vied for my joint worst experience to date. I gave you my word and that is literally all I have right now - you aren’t going to catch me breaking it. Not for anything.”

Waverly tries to wrap her head around the kind of courage necessary to escape from a place that was clearly terrifying enough the first time, only to go back again right away. She thinks that even with all the bravery in her body, she could never be half so bold.

She opens her mouth, tries to think of something to say. She has already said _thank you_ so many times, and it just doesn’t seem to cover it. With nothing more to say and Nicole not appearing to expect a response, Waverly changes the subject.

“Can I maybe ask one more question?”

“Just the one?” Nicole jokes, all solemnity gone again. “Yeah, go for it.”

“Do you ever - sorry this is kind of deep but - do you regret not becoming a cop in the end? Like, if you could change it all, would you?”

This is an invasive question and Waverly knows it. But something in Nicole’s story reads like a cautionary tale for Waverly’s current life choices. 

Waverly feels, now, a strong affinity with Nicole’s position in life, even if the hardships they have experienced are not all directly comparable. Both of them possess all that drive, all that determination to pursue something they didn’t fully understand. For Nicole it had ended in disaster and even a near-death experience. 

Were they both foolish, Waverly wonders, for pushing the envelope when they both had perfectly solid careers just there, waiting for them? Waverly doesn’t necessarily wish to work at Mr Elmasry's  museum her whole life, but her experience is still invaluable in that sector.

She cannot say, now, whether this voyage is truly going to be worth the risk and although she cannot bring herself to be so explicit, she hopes her roundabout question might assuage something of the fear she is feeling.  

However, there is no hiding from Nicole and her seemingly cast iron instincts. Waverly can see how she made a good cop.

“Oh boy, don’t tell me you’re doubting the expedition _now_ ,” she says, making it very clear in her voice that she is joking. “What, after a little bit of fire, river water, and the worst train in the country? And after I tell you how my career choice blew up in face?”

Waverly snorts, wondering how Nicole can be so blasé. Then again, she supposes that there isn’t really any other option. In fact, Waverly feels a pang of mild envy in Nicole’s direction; she would kill for that kind of ability to keep on keeping on.

Nicole bites her lip. “Do you really want the honest answer?”

“Yes, if you’re willing to tell me.”

“Even if you won’t like it?”

Waverly considers this for a moment, thinking that Nicole has just answered the question.

“Yes, please.”

“Then sure, of course I regret it. Look, the adventures were great, the friends I made were wonderful but I really can’t say that all of _this_ ,” she gestures at herself, at her wrinkled shirt and her singular (but seemingly bigger on the inside) duffle, “was worth it. Not when I wanted to be a cop so badly and could probably have made Deputy by now in some offices. I hate the idea of having regrets, it doesn’t get you anywhere, bu- ”

“Good. Because regrets are for suckers,” Wynonna interjects from out of sight, making them both jump. A sort of soft hush had descended between Waverly and Nicole, one they hadn’t really noticed until it was gone.

With a hefty moan, Wynonna shifts to a seated position. “We’re _all_ gonna show ‘em when we get back. We’re gonna march in with the finds of the century and all the glory that goes with them.”

“I was never in it for the glory, Earp,” Nicole says with a good-humoured smile. “But I’ll take the feelgood message as intended.”

“Good, because that’s about all the ‘feelgood’ you’re gonna get from me for a while,” Wynonna quips as she plonks down heavily on her previous seat. “Or at least until you get me the hell off this goddamn train.”

Just like that, the mood is lifted.

 

 

 

 

 

They exit the train at Qena, and connect to another service bound due west. There is nothing Waverly wants to do less than board another train, but Nicole assures her it is the last one.

“We’re taking it right to the end of the line,” she explains. “You can’t get any closer by rail than that.”

This train is even slower than the last, practically travelling at freight speed and, according to Nicole, it is going to take another five hours.

By this time, dusk has fallen and sleep finally claims Nicole. Wynonna doses alongside her, leaving Waverly sat facing them but otherwise alone with her thoughts.

Gradually, the light fades from the sky and the world is plunged into almost all-consuming blackness. There are no lights out here save for the stars and the light reflected on the moon. It hangs in the sky, large and full, like a sentinel, and its light drifts through the window, landing squarely on their little band of travellers.

It plays beautifully on Nicole’s pale skin, making her look as though, in her stillness, she might be made of marble.

Wynonna’s head is turned away to one side, but her dark hair shimmers in the moonlight, and the quiet scene finally gives Waverly a moment or two of peace.

She loves the world like this; soft and contemplative, opalescent and pale. It gives her time to think, _really_ think, and her mind is abuzz with the revelations of the past few hours.

She can’t shake off the guilty feeling in her stomach at the thought that Nicole had only just escaped the desert, only for Waverly and Wynonna to drag her back out there again. Nicole could easily have reneged on her promise and Waverly knows that, had she been in the same position, she might have considered it.

But to hear Nicole talk, it almost seemed like the idea had never crossed her mind.

That’s...pretty special, as far as Waverly is concerned.

But with this fresh knowledge, Waverly can’t deny that she now thinks differently of almost everything. Nicole’s help, her presence here, means something different now. Sure, their deal was made partly out of desperation, but it is no longer possible for Waverly to be so pessimistic about Nicole's involvement.

Nicole’s story is an illustration of the true character hidden beneath that mask Waverly had spotted a mile off. That mask was covering pain and grief and probably a huge helping of fear, but it was still part of Nicole. It was made of things that _were_ , Waverly could see now, in Nicole’s nature; some unshakable, steadfast honour and a rock-steady patience that Waverly doesn’t think she could ever hope to possess for herself. Nicole’s _determination_ , however - that is something Waverly can relate to.

Even in spite of the caution that Nicole’s story has inspired, Waverly is mostly just glad to be able to understand so easily how Nicole must have felt in pursuing her chosen path. Waverly is glad too, to know that she might be so easily understood in return. It is nice to think that there is someone else, alongside Wynonna, on this journey who deeply understands, even if Nicole has only hinted as such thus far.

It is a comforting thought, one of very few Waverly has experienced in a while. It is that, perhaps, along with the steady _click-clack_ of the train that finally lulls her into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as ever, i just want to say thank you for reading and most especially if you take the time to leave a comment. it's hard to describe just how much it spurs myself and other writers on to keep going and keep producing new fics. i really do appreciate you giving up your time to leave a comment, and would love to hear your thoughts on anything i've written; what you like, what you didn't etc.
> 
> otherwise, come say hi on twitter, where i mostly just cry about dom, kat, wayhaught, and rosita bustillos and my headcanons for her and her earth witch girlfriend. i...am aware i did not sell this well, but it'll be fun i swear! you'll find me @rositabustiiios
> 
> thank you so much again to anja for proofreading this for me - ily <333
> 
> i hope you're all having a great start to the week, i'll be back as normal next monday!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more travels and trains, one tiny tent, and a terrible truck ride all ensue. 
> 
> plus, we rejoin bobo and his...friends, and the dreaded harry potter references gear up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! yeppp it's that time of the week again - i am nothing if not a creature of habit in this respect. i hope you're all having lovely mondays (or as lovely as mondays can be), and i hope this update can somehow contribute to you having a good day.
> 
> at the risk of sounding like a broken record, i am just really so, so grateful to everyone who reads and gets in touch with me. your reviews, twitter/tumblr messages, and public tweets mean so much to me. i know i say it a lot, but they help to give me the confidence to keep writing and posting. i love writing and it's my dream for the future but i'm not always the most confident about my abilities. getting any kind of engagement with something i wrote really is just so unspeakably wonderful to me. 
> 
> anyway, with that in mind, i'm just going to get to the chapter and there will be more information about what i've written in the end notes.

Waverly stirs to the sensation of a hand on her shoulder, shaking her ever so gently.

Nicole’s voice is somewhere above her, trying to call Waverly away from sleep so that they can leave the train.

However, none of this does such a thorough job of rousing Waverly as the soft _tap_ of Wynonna’s boot against Waverly’s shin.

Waverly groans, feeling groggy as she struggles to open her eyes. All of these momentary half-sleeps aren’t doing her any good at all.

“Sleeps like the dead, that one,” she hears Wynonna grumble from somewhere down the compartment. She is obviously speaking directly to Nicole. “You’re lucky she didn’t start snoring.”

“Don’t snore,” Waverly mumbles, wiping sleep out of her eyes.

Wynonna snorts, sounding derisive. “Yeah. You totally do.”

“Do _not_ ,” Waverly retorts, childish demeanour only partially ironic. With her eyes now slightly clearer, she catches Nicole watching and trying to bite back a smile. “Don’t you start too. It’s too early - well, late - for this.”

This only makes Nicole bite her lip harder against a now-growing smile.

“What’s so funny?” Waverly asks, not sure if she really wants to hear the answer.

“You actually kind of do snore, but only like...really, really quietly,” Nicole says, backing up Wynonna. “Don’t worry though, it’s actually pretty adorable.”

Waverly stands up suddenly, once again only half-faking a strop.

“Well _shit_ , don’t you both start ganging up on me about it,” she says as she bustles down the carriage and pushes past Wynonna, who does a poor job of hiding a small bout of silent laughter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They find themselves in a settlement that can almost be called a town.

Initially, the size of the place surprises Waverly, who hadn’t thought desert communities tended to settle this far from the life-supporting waters of the Nile. She quickly discovers, however, that the peaceful little outpost benefits instead from a large oasis.

Nicole introduces the place as Kharga and although Waverly dimly recognises the name, that is about as far as her foreknowledge on the place goes.

Nevertheless, her immediate reaction is a positive one. With its abundance of greenery - mostly acacias and jujubes - Kharga Oasis sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the parched desert mountains. At nearly midnight, it is as dark and quiet as they would expect but, as ever, this all seems to fit into Nicole’s wider plan.

Or, if not, she takes it all in her stride.

“Another wait,” she tells them slightly apologetically. “But, if luck’s on our side, we should be able to get moving again by dawn.”

They drift without discussion towards the oasis itself, drawn by the clear water as it glimmers in the starlight.

It is chillier out here in the open desert than Waverly is used to in Cairo, although a welcome silver lining is that it is also much less humid. Still, Waverly shivers and sits close to Wynonna when they drop to the soft sands a few feet from the water’s edge.

“Never not cold, huh?” Wynonna observes with amusement, slinging her arm over Waverly’s shoulder.

They both watch as Nicole stoops to the oasis, refilling the bottles and canteens that they had emptied throughout the day. It would be worse when they were out in the middle of nowhere - they will drink more and find fewer water sources.

“Is it safe to drink?” Waverly asks when Nicole joins them on the bank.

“Not sure. Probably yes, but we can boil it to be safe.” She fishes a swiss army knife out of her bag and uses it to score a line into the containers filled with oasis water, effectively labelling them. “I’ve got some kindling-slash-burnables in here somewhere, so there won’t be a problem.”

“Dude, is there anything you _don’t_ have in that bag?” Wynonna asks and Nicole ducks her head with a small bark of a laugh.

“A sat phone, a chopper, and a million dollars?” she says, and Wynonna shrugs in acquiescence.

“Fair point, Indiana Haught,” as she says this, Wynonna’s eyes take on a slightly dreamy quality. “Y’know I always had a thing for him.”

“Wrong crowd here,” Nicole replies, gesturing at herself.  

 

“Arguably, it’s actually more like you’re Hermione with that bag,” Waverly interjects, more to herself than the others, but Wynonna rolls her eyes anyway.

“Always with the damn Harry Potter references. If I don’t get Indie right now, you’re not having Potter.” Wynonna turns to Nicole. “When we were kids she had this like, _huge_ thing for Lupin.”

Ignoring her sister, Waverly stage-whispers at Nicole from behind her hand. “Don’t listen to her, she’s not so tough. She cried when Sirius died in the fifth book. He was more her speed if we’re talking crushes on fictional dudes.”

Wynonna huffs, kicking at some loose sand with the toe of her boot.

“It wasn’t just _that_ , jeez. They’d just reconnected, okay? It was sad! _Everybody_ cried!”

After a moderate amount of popular culture-related bickering, Nicole quickly changes the subject by recommending that they try and ward off sleep for the rest of the night. She explains that they are better off trying to rest through the hottest parts of the day from now on, at least until they arrive at the Lost City.

“The sooner your body gets used to it, the better,” she adds and, at her advice, they all more or less successfully pull an all-nighter by the oasis, give or take one tiny cat nap on Waverly’s part.

They keep each other awake by swapping stories, and it is strange the different just one day can make under such circumstances. If asked now, neither Waverly nor Wynonna would think of Nicole as a relative stranger anymore.

Social conventions and regular timing just do not work like that out here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sun rises early out in the desert during summer, so the plan to leave at dawn kicks in soon enough.

As the sky brightens Nicole rises and brushes the dust off her pants.

“I need to call in a favour, you guys can stay here if you want. The rest of the way won’t be especially well-populated, so I suggest you lose long pants now in favour of something cooler.”

Wynonna goes in for some retort (her ripped black jeans were kind of a trademark) but Nicole already seems habituated to Wynonna’s ways.

“Unless you want to literally start roasting,” she says sternly. “It’s gonna be 100 or more out there.”

Upon Nicole’s return they are all more suitably attired, and her arrival is accompanied by a distant engine rumble. Hot on her heels is an open bed truck kicking up dust along an old, worn track. When it comes to a halt nearby, a young, smiling Kharga man sticks his head out the driver’s side window and barks a good-natured command at them to hurry up.

“This is Amr” Nicole explains in English as they gather their bags, but she switches language once they reach the van. “He does regular runs between Qena, here, and some of the Bedouin communities who live further out. He usually shuttles water out to them, because most of their usual sites are drying up too fast, thanks to everyone’s favourite new friend: global warming. He does the runs just because he can; he’s a pretty stand up guy.

“He picked me up along the side of the road just outside of Qena and took me to the city. I was pretty dehydrated by that point, got myself way off course. Anyway it was on his way so he took me for free, but I wanted to give him something so I passed on a bunch of tools from my...past employer. Figured they’d serve people out in the desert more than me when I got back to Cairo.”

“I told her to ask me if she ever needed a favour,” Amr interjects in Arabic, smiling. “But I didn’t actually _mean_ it, you know? Thought I’d never see her again.” He gives a loud laugh and the others can’t help but join in.

“As luck would have it, he’s heading back out into the desert now,” Nicole adds, “so he’ll drop us about a day or two from the city on foot, give or take. It all gets a bit into the realm of guesswork from there,” she explains before seeing the horrified looks on both sisters’ faces. “Very, very educated guesswork,” she amends quickly.

“Ladies,” Amr calls out from the cab again, “welcome to your magic carpet!”

They all clamber up into the truck bed, making uncomfortable seats out of a few upturned wooden crates and, following a shout from Nicole, Amr sets off.

“If we’re walking two days, how many did you do solo?” Wynonna asks, once they have been moving for a few minutes.

Nicole pauses, visibly counting.

“Around nine, I think,” she says eventually. “But obviously I couldn’t I couldn’t afford a train to Cairo, so I was doing a lot of hitch-hiking along the Nile. Weeks-worth of it, in fact.”

“Holy shit,” Wynonna says, suitably impressed. “You’re a machine Haught. How the hell are you even still alive?”

Nicole shrugs, looking troubled by whatever she is recalling of her time alone amongst the sand dunes.

“Too stubborn to die, I guess.”

 

 

 

 

 

To say Amr drives erratically would be to drastically understate matters. It would be terrifying enough on tarmac, but the desert road is no more than a series of lumps, bumps, and potholes in the dirt.

From the moment they set off, it feels like their brains are going to rattle out of their skulls.

Still, Amr is jovial to a fault, and he plays ABBA on loop via an old tape cassette (it is the only one he has, apparently). He seems to derive a great deal of joy out of Waverly singing along to “ _Thank You For The Music_ ” with him and, honestly, Waverly kind of enjoys herself too.

Well, except for all the rattling, and the fact that her butt goes entirely numb within about half an hour.

They take a few detours along the way, helping Amr to unload water and other supplies for the travelling Bedouin communities traversing the area.

Mostly, they just try and keep their exposed skin out of the sun and endeavour to dose when they can. As it transpires, if you're exhausted enough from sleep deprivation and extreme heat, you’ll sleep anywhere - including the back of an erratic, bone-shaking truck.

By the time Amr finally drops them off quite literally in the middle of nowhere, the air is finally starting to cool down and, although not bursting with energy, they feel surprisingly well-recovered.

The plan - or more accurately, Nicole’s plan - is to walk for at least a few hours while it is still light and before the need for sleep creeps up on them again.

As before, Nicole sets the direction and the pace, and the sisters do their best to keep up with her. They walk at a direct right angle to the road, taking them in the opposite direction of any signs of human life.

As objectively terrifying as it is to be stuck in the desert with no way of contacting the outside world, Waverly has to admit that the landscape is kind of breathtaking enough to help you forget the danger. _Almost._

It is barren, yes, as well as harsh and unforgiving, but the sand dunes roll like ocean waves and the rock formations rise between them like lighthouses. It is sometimes desolate, but it is always stunning.

They pass very few other living things - a lizard here, or a single solitary desert plant there. Otherwise, they are completely alone.

Nicole navigates them onwards in the old school way; by using the same old compass and a creased up map of the desert which she must have been given upon deployment.

Neither Waverly nor Wynonna bother to ask about the route, knowing that anything Nicole says is likely only to pass straight over their heads. After all, one scrap of desert looks much like another to the untrained eye.

In fact, no one speaks very much at all.

This quiet landscape, with its weighty atmosphere, seems to make them all contemplative. By unspoken agreement, they each focus their concentration inwards on taking the next step. Wading through sand is hell on their muscles.

The quiet mood makes a fellow traveller of itself, drawing them all into an instinctive routine.

They rest around midnight and midday - when it is too dark or too hot to walk. Otherwise, they walk and generally they do so in silence. Even if there was much to say, it is all Waverly can do to focus on keeping the pace and listening to her own body for signs of dehydration, fatigue, or sunstroke.

She has a suspicion that Nicole has adjusted their pace and that she would have made much better time alone.

By comparison, Waverly wilts under the heat and she discovers that humans can cramp _and_ blister in places she hadn’t heard of. Regardless, she point blank refuses to complain as she learns precisely what Nicole had meant when she said she was ‘too stubborn’ to give in to the desert.

And even if the going is so much harder than Waverly could have imagined, she is forced to acknowledge that there is some small, strange charm to this existence. Things are unspeakably simple out here. They eat when they are hungry, they rest when they cannot walk any longer, and they pitch Nicole’s battered little tent when they are ready to sleep.

Even Waverly, who notoriously tolerates the great outdoors only for her love of archaeology, starts to _get it_. She quickly discovers that nothing is as weird as it technically should be just because they’re in the desert - not even sleeping a tent that was not technically designed for three people.

The day after Amr drops them off had been particularly punishing, with temperatures rocketing past 100 degrees and not even square inch of shade in sight. The newness of the physical exertion does not help either - neither Waverly nor Wynonna is yet used to walking so much.

They pitch the little white tent once during the day and once at night. On both occasions it is unbearably stuffy. They were not, after all, supposed to be sharing Nicole’s tent but Waverly and Wynonna’s accommodation had been another casualty of their boat trip.  

Around an hour after they lay their heads down under the cover of night, Waverly hears Nicole leave the tent.

She follows, leaving Wynonna dead to the world.

“Please tell me you were burning up too in there,” Waverly whispers when she is outside and Nicole, already sprawled on her back, hums her agreement.

“ _Mmhm_.”

“Is it safe out here?” Waverly asks, laying down on the sand next to Nicole.

“Barely less safe than that.”

Nicole gestures to the tent, which is flimsy and a little battered from their recent misadventures. To try to help with space and airflow, they don’t even bother to zip it fully closer. Sure, scorpions are a risk but they are rolling the dice.

Waverly chuckles before shifting in the sand - it is scratchy and unpleasant in her hair, but it really is preferable to the tent.

“Fair point.”

“It’s not so bad, really is it,” Nicole muses aloud, sound sleepy and slightly less reserved, “living like this?”

“I’ve been thinking that,” Waverly admits and, looking surprised, Nicole turns her head suddenly. Waverly mirrors her so that they can face each other.

“Can I...be honest?” Nicole asks after a significant pause.

Waverly nods, trying not to look apprehensive.

“I kind of expected you to say the opposite.”

Waverly snorts, but deep down she had worried that this might the case. For a reason she cannot quite articulate, it has become important to her that Nicole thinks her capable.

“You thought I was going to be super precious didn’t you?”she asks, voice quiet and resigned. No one ever thinks she is tough enough.

This makes Nicole laugh but, like Waverly, she is careful to keep quiet, and not just for Wynonna’s sake.

There is something about the nights out here that court softness in every form. It could be the charm of the now-waning moon, or the silence of the watchful stars.

“No, that’s not it,” she replies thoughtfully, becoming more insistent when Waverly looks doubtful. “Seriously, I’ve seen you Waverly, I know how deep that mettle runs. I didn’t expect you to be precious or highly strung about this part. I just expected it to be, I don’t know, a necessary evil in your eyes.”

Waverly blinks, shocked that Nicole has seen through to her very insides yet again.

“That’s…yeah, that’s kind of how I felt at the start,” she admits. “And I’m not loving the heat or how horrible it is to carry everything. I especially don’t like that even basic things like the bathroom are, like, a thousand times harder. I _really_ wouldn’t want to do this for longer than I have to, but I can also see why people like it. It’s simple, isn’t it? It’s untethered.”

“ _Untethered_ ,” Nicole murmurs, thinking it over. “I like that. Although I do wonder if I’ve maybe been untethered enough to last a lifetime.” She smiles wistfully. “A little normality - whatever that actually looks like - might be nice once this is all over.”

“Well, when I know what normality is, I’ll tell you.”

Nicole raises an eyebrow at the implication.

“Is that a promise?” she asks, more seriously than Waverly would have expected.

Waverly meets Nicole’s eyes, suddenly acutely aware of how close their faces are, how near Nicole’s lips are to her own.

“It’s a promise,” she replies carefully.

Nicole tips her the tiniest of smiles, but she manages to put a lot of feeling into that one little look.

“Good,” she whispers, and Waverly can feel how much Nicole means it.

They fall asleep shortly after, out there on the sand and under the stars.

Wynonna laughs so much when she finds them at dawn that they both jerk awake in a panic.

Still chortling, Wynonna begins disassembling the tent. “Man, I wish my phone still worked. I would have loved a photo of that.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“We’re getting close now,” Nicole announces suddenly, craning to look behind her at Waverly and Wynonna.

“How close?” Waverly asks, relief shooting through her. This is their third afternoon of walking, and she is past the point of exhaustion.

“Probably about twenty minutes.”

“Wait, are you joking? Haught, there’s nothing here,” Wynonna states, clearly as confused as Waverly herself. “Everything’s flat and it’s clear for miles, what gives?”

But Nicole is not listening. Instead she is looking off to the right, bringing her hand to her forehead to try and block out the low afternoon sun. Waverly follows her gaze and her heart sinks.

Although distinct and hazy with heat, they can all see what is unmistakably a larger group of people in the distance.

“Is that…” Waverly asks, trailing off and squinting.

“Bobo,” Nicole affirms darkly.

“Looks like those assholes made it after all,” Wynonna adds.

Immediately, Nicole speeds up. “Come on, we can still make it before them. I don’t think they’ve seen us yet - that’s an advantage, at least.”

She leads them slightly off course, down a very slight decline which, if they are lucky, will conceal their approach just enough.

They march along painfully quickly and Waverly tries to ignore her blisters on her feet as they scream in protest. Her shirt sticks unpleasantly to her as they hurry along and she cannot remember a time when she felt more unhygenic.

“Again, Haught, what the hell gives?” Wynonna demands as she tries to fall into step with Nicole. “There is _nothing_ here. I swear to God if my sister was right this entire time and this has been a joke - ”

Looking hurt, Nicole glances first at Wynonna and then backwards at Waverly, whose heart plunges as her first instinct is now to reassure Nicole of her trust. She has believed in Nicole since she held out her hand and they jumped together into a swirling, thundering river.

“No, Nicole, I - ”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Nicole says sharply, cutting Waverly off. “I didn’t see it either at first. It wasn’t until I was right on top of it that I even realised.”

Wynonna looks at Waverly, gauging her response.

“Well. It wouldn’t be a very good place to hide your treasure if everyone could see it a hundred miles off,” Waverly says hurriedly, trying to meet Nicole's eye. Some of the tension in her jaw disappears, but only barely. 

Wynonna, on the other hand, nods quickly and looks perfectly satisfied, but her instant faith only makes Waverly feel more guilty. She wants Nicole to know that trust doesn't only run between blood; while they are out here, Nicole is an Earp too. 

“But either way,” Wynonna continues. “I can’t see how it matters now if we beat Bobo. He’ll still take the treasure for himself.”

“We’ve come all this way,” Nicole replies immediately. “Just...trus- it matters, okay? 

Waverly has one final stab at making amends. 

"Well, I for one am ready to show these shit-eaters exactly what we're all made of."

This time, Nicole smiles. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As it turns out, Hamunaptra materialises in front of weary travellers through a heat haze, almost as a mirage. One minute it is invisible, the next it is right there.

Waverly has to pinch herself, literally, before she can believe it.

 _Supernatural central_...Nicole had said, and already Waverly was starting to understand.

There is no time to theorise just yet, however, as they race to the city’s main entrance. They arrive with just enough time left to pitch their tent and sit beside it in a way they hope looks at least slightly relaxed, as though they had been there ages.

They are breathless, red-faced, and sweating which probably gives the game away but it doesn’t matter. They have won.  

If Bobo is surprised when he sees them, he hides it well under a very suave exterior. The same cannot be said for many of his cohorts, whose expressions suggest that losing is the end of the world.

“Ladies,” Bobo says as he stands in front of them, spreading his arms in what they assume is supposed to be a grand, welcoming gesture. “You made it.”

“Yeah well, it's no thanks to you, and the stunts you pulled back on the ship,” Waverly snaps without hesitation, feeling her temper spark.

Unfortunately, her anger only seems to amuse Bobo, and she has to stop herself from giving him a further rise. It is, after all, what he wants from her.

“Yes, well I can only apologise for their anticsa few days ago. You know how men can get,” he says suavely, still smiling and showing off too many teeth.

“One of your guys tried to kill my sister,” Wynonna says darkly. “So don’t try and pull that ‘boys will be boys’ shit with us.”

Bobo does not miss a beat.

“I can only assure you that I have had strong, strong words with Carl about that, and I _guarantee_  your safety while we are all here together.” Suddenly, he claps his hands together, businesslike, and they all try not to jump. “Speaking of which, how long, might I ask, have you three been here?”

“A few hours,” Nicole says quickly. “Just long enough to shelter from the worst of the heat and set up camp.”

Bobo gives them another unsettling smile, but it is clear that he is not convinced. Nonetheless, he has little choice but to loudly declare them the winners.

“I am a man of my word. One thousand dollars, was it?” he asks and Nicole nods.

He pulls an enormous bundle of cash out of his backpack as if it was the most normal thing in the world, thumbing casually through multiple hundred- and fifty-dollar bills.

“I won’t be offended if you check it,” he says once he is done, handing the cash to Nicole.

Face impassive, Nicole steps off to one side to count the money in an obvious message to Bobo that she does not trust him.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t think he’d pull through on that bet,” Waverly whispers to Wynonna as they watch Nicole counting. Waverly notes silently that she pokes her tongue between her teeth when she concentrates.

“It wasn’t for us,” Wynonna mutters out of the corner of her mouth.

Waverly sends her a questioning look.

“It was for his men. If he went back on his bet with us, what was to say he wouldn’t refuse them their share of whatever they find here? Men like this, they’re not loyal to anyone but themselves and their money. It pains me to say it, but Bobo’s smart enough to know that.”

To their surprise, when Nicole finishes counting she jerks her head at Bobo in a request to speak privately.

“Is there a problem?” one of the men asks her, squaring his shoulders until Bobo gives a look that clearly means _back down_.

He and Nicole stand off to one side. The sisters watch their conversation and whatever Nicole says makes Bobo laugh. She takes one note from the stack of money and holds it out. 

“I like your spirit,” Bobo declares loudly, intending for everyone to hear his rebuttal.

Nicole, however, does not flinch. She merely speaks again, keeping her voice low enough that no one else can hear. 

After a moment, Bobo holds up four fingers and Nicole looks affronted, talking more animatedly this time.

Following a spirited back and forth, Bobo eventually takes two fifties back from her and beckons at the man they know to be Levi who seems to be displeased at whatever instructions follow. He starts to argue back, but a quick look at the expressions on both Bobo and Nicole’s faces stops him in his tracks. After rummaging in his pack, he hands Nicole something wrapped in beige canvas.

Satisfied, she smiles and walks away without another word.

“Walk with me,” she murmurs as she passes Waverly and Wynonna, and the three of them hurry into the city.

They do their best to look as though they know where they want to go. Ideally, they would like to maintain the lie that they have been here all day for as long as possible.

Once they are hidden behind the ruins, Nicole stops and splits the remaining money equally between them.

“Not to sound ungrateful,” Wynonna says as she takes a third, “but didn’t you need to consult us before spending our winnings?”

“ _My_ winnings,” Nicole amends, folding her own money up tight and stuffing it into her back pocket. “I made the bet. If you wanted your own money you shouldn't have lost at poker,” she quips, seeming back to herself.

 

“Touché,” Wynonna concedes with a grin.  

“Anyway, don’t spend it all at once out here,” she says, only half-kidding when she looks at Wynonna. “We still need to get back to Cairo,” she points out.

“I also got this,” she says directly to Waverly, handing her the beige pouch from Levi. Waverly takes it, surprised to find it heavier than she was expecting. “After what they did, I figured they owed it to you at a knockdown price. And I thought you might like it,” she says, cheeks colouring when she realises her choice of words. “I mean I thought you might need it."

Unknotting the tie across the front, Waverly unravels the pouch and finds that it contains a basic, albeit slightly old and outdated, archaeology kit to replace the one she had lost to the river.

“I…” she pauses, slightly blindsided by the realisation that Nicole must have planned this out. She understands now, why Nicole wanted to win the bet. “Uh, thank you,” she manages to say to Nicole’s back.

Behind them, Wynonna just shakes her head in bemusement.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Neither the women nor Bobo waste any time in making their way into Hamunaptra.

Upon first inspection, it seems to comprise of an above-ground city - of which mostly foundations and some half-toppled pillars and eroded statues remain - and an underground labyrinth of rooms and passages. These, unsurprisingly, have been much better preserved.

Barreling straight into the depths of the city goes straight to the top of Waverly’s list of ‘biggest acts of malpractice’ and it sort of makes her sick with nerves. More so, she shudders to think about the key procedures they should _-_ but ultimately do not - follow to ensure the safety of the site.

The only thing keeping Waverly centred is the knowledge that if they don’t act immediately then Bobo will leave nothing behind for posterity and further study.

This, at least, gives them the steely determination to advance immediately into the chambers below the sand - not that there aren’t about a hundred constraints to deal with from the very first second.

There is no way of knowing the layout of the underground city until they’re inside, which leaves them with the very real possibility of getting lost underground. There isn’t actually anyone waiting for them to return, so no one will come looking if they get stuck. Always one step ahead, Nicole is the first to caution them over sticking together.

Ignorance over the city itself means that there is also no real indication of where the old Pharaoh’s treasure is stored, assuming of course that there is anything of monetary value still left here. Waverly’s only real interest in finding so-called treasure is to log it and try and keep it from Bobo’s men. Nonetheless she knows it is an impossible task and can only hope that the particular artefact she is searching for will remain undisturbed in a separate part of the city.

She highly doubts that the men will be looking out for a book, even if it is made entirely out of gold.

Still feeling a little shell-shocked that they actually made it this far and the city really does exist, Waverly allows herself to take a moment as she picks her way inside with Nicole and Wynonna. They descend down a steep set of stone steps, the entranceway so narrow that scarcely any light follows behind them.

Through the gloom she can see old metal brackets lining the walls - spaces for ancient visitors to affix a torch or lantern of some kind.

They all stand stock-still for the briefest of moments, before Wynonna breaks the silence.

“After everything that happened, Dad really was right.”

Waverly does not reply, only stands and breathes in the heavy air. Even slightly aerated as it has been, there is a smell of must and age here. It will only increase as they progress further inside.

Waverly smiles to herself. She knows it is cliche, but she really does love that smell.

It reminds her of days poring over books and source materials in university libraries, listening to the rain as it pattered on the windows. The smell brings to mind memories of her first ever day in an archive, of the overwhelming kick of suddenly being so close to objects so much older than herself. And here, now, in Hamunaptra she will remember this moment forever too - standing in a room that may not have been disturbed in thousands of years.

Her first instinct is to scan the hieroglyphics on the walls, but the symbols at the ends of the room already appear quite dull.

They had cleared a vast thicket of half-dead desert brush and scrub to get through the doorway, but there had still been enough light damage _through_ the rotting wood to fade some of the paint nearest the open doorway.

She resists the urge to reach out and touch - it is enigmatic being here, enough to make her ignore her training and her instincts - and squints at the writing.

Most of the wall illustrations in places of this importance are descriptive, and she is hoping in part for a story about the city itself - a sort of ancient Hamunaptra guidebook. This was only ever an unimportant side entrance, however, and she finds just a brief farming scene; wonderful as an illustration of ancient life, but no treasure map.  

Then again, no one was going to build an ancient treasure city, then paint directions to all the gold on the walls.

Nicole still has her absurdly heavy bag with her (now, at least, Waverly understands those strong shoulders she’d first noticed in the jail) and she rustles about a bit before producing two flashlights.

“I did dry these out, and last I checked they haven’t corroded. We’ll have to share though.”

Waverly takes one and leaves Nicole with the other, Wynonna travelling between them. They move with cautious, measured steps in case the floor is unsteady or eroded with age. There is no indication of how deep below ground the city goes, and they don’t want to fall through rotting planks.

At least they are in a decently ventilated area at the moment. Ideally they would have masks for the dust they might disturb later and, Waverly realises belatedly, she should probably have checked that everyone was up to date on their vaccines and health checks. This is not going to be a particularly sanitary environment if anyone sustains any nasty injuries.

Still, there isn’t much they can do about that now and Waverly can only assume that the government had Nicole’s health monitored under a microscope. They would all be fine - probably.

Unsure of how much ancient history Nicole knows, Waverly takes the time to explain their surroundings in her best impression of a tour guide.

“This is a preparation room,” she explains in a hushed and reverent tone, “which could be why there is a direct entrance.”

“What did they prepare in here?” Nicole asks, equally quiet - the weight of the past is always tangible.

“They prepared _for_ something: the afterlife,” Waverly answers, stepping forward to examine an old stone table where once the bodies of the most important people - _men_ , she amends with a frown - of the day might have lain. This time, she can’t quite resist the urge to gently drop the tips of her fingers to the cool limestone, almost as though she might feel a crackle of something - electricity, memory, _history_ \- against her skin.

“So like just to be clear - ” Nicole prompts, seeking direct confirmation.

“Yeah,” Wynonna confirms, “this is where they mummified the dead dudes.”

Nicole comes to stand by Waverly to examine the same table. “So this right here is where they had the body?” she asks, voice pitched slightly higher to indicate guesswork.

“Exactly right,” Waverly confirms with a smile.

Despite the slightly gory purpose of the slab, Nicole clearly feels the same urge for a direct connection to history. She drops her own hand to the stone less than inch away. Waverly looks down for a moment, thinking of how easy it would be to reach out a finger and touch the warm, desert-dried skin on the back of Nicole’s hand.

The thought is an unexpected one and Waverly starts ever so slightly, clearing her head as quickly as possible.

Nicole catches the line of Waverly’s sight and gives her a pointed look before Wynonna, thankfully, breaks the silence.

“Come on, let’s check this place out before those assholes out there get too comfortable.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

They trek through room after room and Waverly prays that they have a good enough handle on their bearings to find their way back again. She pretty much implicitly trusts Nicole in this respect now, but this is presumably vastly different from orienteering in the desert.

“Yeah,” Nicole agrees with a cheeky grin when Waverly asks the question. “It’s gonna be easier.”

“Oh thank _God_ ,” Wynonna interjects from somewhere just behind them.

They keep up a quiet chatter as they go, mostly so that - in the dark - they can ensure no one gets separated.

They agree that this needs to be a reconnaissance trip for now; just a way to get their bearings and mentally map part of the city. Waverly knows that this is the right thing to do, but still she wants to linger. No momentary pause to read the hieroglyphs is sufficient, no small segment of each wall is enough new information.

The more urgent matter at hand is that Bobo and his contingent have clearly made their own way underground, because occasionally the sounds of their voices filter through to the women. Loud, careless shouts echo around in a far off way that gives absolutely no indication of their location. The sounds stretch out and distort. In the dingy, deserted atmosphere it is actually pretty creepy.

No one replies, and no one mentions that this can’t actually be said about every sound they hear.

The noises of the city are unsurprisingly eerie and disorientating. A wind that should not exist underground seems to whistle through passageways and, at one point, something that sounds like thousands of scuttling legs seems to pass above them. It makes Waverly shiver.

She prays it is all her imagination, but to no avail.

“What the hell was that?” Nicole asks urgently, moving the beam of her flashlight around erratically, searching for the source of the sound.

“Sounded like bugs,” Wynonna muses and Waverly isn’t sure if it’s a good thing that someone else drew the same conclusion.

“God, I hope not,” she chimes in with a shudder. “I hate bugs.”

They hear the same sound a few times as they walk, but no one seems to want to mention it again.

Waverly finds herself glancing at Nicole at regular intervals. Her demeanour on their journey was one of steely determination, but she had always intimated that she was scared by her last visit here. Waverly knows that Nicole will tamp down any signs of fear, but she cannot help but feel at least slightly responsible for her wellbeing.

Very little about the underground labyrinth of passages makes sense, and it starts to frustrate all of them. Corridors seem to bring them round in circles - Waverly swears they pass the same painting of the death of Osiris three times - and more than once they have to double back on themselves due to cave-ins.

After what seems like hours of walking, they round a corner into a wider chamber and Waverly exhales sharply. Wynonna flashes her an excited look.

“Waves, it that - ”

“I think so but I can’t quite - I can’t believe it.”

Waverly can’t help the grin that spreads across her face as she feels a thrill of excitement settle in her stomach.

“It’s really there, just like Dad and Curtis always said,” Wynonna whispers, trying to play it cool but falling short. It is obvious she feels as awed and excited as Waverly does.

“Uh, guys,” Nicole interjects, staring blankly into the mostly empty room. “Non-historian here.”

“Right, sorry,” Waverly says, shaking her head and trying to tone down her mega-watt grin. She realises how unremarkable this sparse chamber must look in comparison to their other surroundings. Even the walls are almost bare.

Waverly points her flashlight into the room, illuminating a strange stone pillar, carved to look like two columns pressed together. It is situated oddly in the middle of the room, protruding from the ceiling and seemingly descending through the floor.

“You see that statue?” she asks and Nicole nods. “Well, unless we’re really - I mean like _embarrassingly_ \- off base, that’s the legs of Anubis. They should run even deeper underground.”

As unremarkable as it might seem, this is one of the things she had been hoping to find.

In her excitement, she glances to Nicole whose expression can only be described as the polar opposite of Waverly and Wynonna’s. She frowns deeply, eyes staring through the statue as though she barely sees it.

“Anubis, that’s the dog right? No, not a dog but it’s the, um…” Nicole clicks her fingers as she casts about for the right animal, indicating that Waverly should fill in the gap.

“The jackal, yes,” Waverly supplies, kind of impressed.

“And the rest of it is - what? On the outside?”

“Above ground? Yes,” Waverly confirms, “although I haven’t seen him yet.”

“Right, okay,” Nicole murmurs, eyes clouding over.

“What is it?” Wynonna asks, sharing a quick look with Waverly.

Waverly can appreciate that this doesn’t _seem_ very exciting, but Nicole has been nothing but attentive in listening to every fact the sisters have shared - from the objectively exhilarating to the downright dull. This reaction is not one of disinterest, that much is obvious, but Nicole remains evasive.

“Hm? Oh, no. It’s...it’s nothing, sorry.” Nicole flashes a quick, unconvincing smile. “Go on, tell me more.”

“Well,” Waverly begins, feeling slightly confused, “the Earp consensus, passed down from generation to generation, is that there should be a secret compartment hidden somewhere by his feet.”

“And - okay let me guess - it contains the particular artefact you’re looking for?”

Waverly can’t help but smile, but it is decidedly less emphatic now. “Yes, the _Book of Amun-Ra_.”

A flicker of recognition passes over Nicole’s face.

“You know it?” Waverly asks, trying not to sound surprised. She doesn’t wish to insult Nicole’s intelligence but the book isn’t at all well-known.

Nicole nods, still looking tense.

“I’ve heard of it, yeah. It’s supposed to be pure myth though.” She pauses, then a glimmer of amusement appears briefly on her face. “But, then again, so is this place, right? I’m guessing all your ancestors believed the book was real.”

“Yep,” Wynonna confirms, making a popping sound with her lips. “Well, most of them. I don’t think Edwin was too convinced, and I’m not sure our father had much faith in anything by the end, but he told us the stories when we were younger. Half of the rest of them went stir crazy trying to prove it was real.”

“And now you guys might do just that,” Nicole says, sounding pensieve.

Even in the face of Nicole’s hesitation, Waverly struggles not to feel buoyant at the prospect. “Well, I’ve dreamed about finding it. I just hope we’re not too late.”

“It’ll be pretty sweet to clear our name, prove we’re not all crazy you know?” Wynonna explains. “Plus it’s gonna be worth a ton.”

“Historically speaking,” Waverly adds, tone gently chiding.

“Sure thing kiddo,” Wynonna says affectionately before turning to leave. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find jackal boy’s feet.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the time they have found their way down to the corresponding room one storey lower, it becomes obvious that Bobo’s men are in the immediate vicinity. They can be heard talking and laughing and are, Waverly presumes, the source of some very suspect-sounding clatters and crashes.

She tries to hope for the best, but her worst fears are confirmed when they find the next part of the statue - with a large number of Bobo’s men already huddled around the stone jackal’s feet.

Upon seeing them, Wynonna swears and it makes half of the men jump and add their own curses to the mix.

“Sorry,” Wynonna says without sincerity. “I’d dared to presume that one of you cowboys had heard us clattering along. This place echoes like shit.”

“Yeah don’t we know it,” comes one indignant voice. They cannot see its owner, but he is immediately shushed by half the people present.

It is satisfying, at least, to know that everyone is on edge here.

“Let’s just say that you ladies scared the living hell out of us and be done with it.”

The man with the moustache and the particularly strong accent steps forward, now wearing an old-timey hat that, annoyingly, doesn’t look out of place on his head at all. He speaks directly to Wynonna, having sat with her at the bar.

Wynonna shrugs. “Well, if you’re not cut out for this place you know what you can do…”

The man smiles, enjoying Wynonna’s attitude.

“I think you know we won’t be going anywhere.”

While they speak, Waverly does her best to pick out the faces in the gloom. She dreads the moment she meets eyes with Carl, not at all relishing the prospect of reliving the moment he tried to kill her.

Among the men again is Levi, who notices Waverly clutching onto the tools from earlier.

“That’s my toolkit,” he mutters sullenly, and Waverly instinctively grips the bag tighter.

“I don’t think so,” she replies, setting her jaw.   

Levi notes Nicole’s presence at Waverly’s side, as well as the gun holstered on her belt. Wynonna has borrowed a weapon of her own. Although neither of them is likely to shoot unless absolutely necessary, Levi does not need to know this.

Audibly, he sighs.

“Forget it.”

“Well in that case, have a nice day guys,” Waverly says breezily. “I’m sure that, like us, you have plenty to be getting on with.”

She doesn’t for a second suppose it will work - but they always say that the trick to persuasion is confidence. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices that Nicole’s mouth moves slightly, as though she is fighting a smile.

“Nice try,” Moustache says, “but this is our dig site.”

“Well...we got here first!” Waverly retorts, wincing internally at the weak response. It _is_  technically true. Maybe they weren’t in this precise room first, but they won the race to the city.

“There are plenty of old things here to go poke at, but this here statue is ours,” Moustache insists, tone stern.

“I don’t see anything with your name on it Henry,” Wynonna says, an edge to her voice. Waverly can’t quite tell if she is trying to diffuse the tension, flirt, or flirt _to_ diffuse the tension. Knowing her, it is probably the latter - she isn’t always renowned for picking her moments. Rather than remark upon it any further, Waverly simply files away yet another name for future reference.

Henry takes a step towards them and all of the other men follow suit. Somewhere in the midst is the group’s token woman, who is alone is standing still. Waverly catches her rolling her eyes. Their gazes meet accidentally in a knowing, frustrated look - there is too much machismo here.

It is only then, as she draws her eyes away from the unknown woman’s face, that Waverly notices that the unknown woman is standing right beside horrible Carl. He is the next to catch Waverly’s eye, but his look is far less friendly. He smiles in a way that makes Waverly’s skin crawl.

“Well you are right that we don’t _own_ anything here...” Henry concedes.

“Not _yet_ ,” Carl interjects.

“And either way, you may have noticed that there is at least fifteen of us. Only three of you. Your odds aren’t exactly great.” Henry’s hand comes to rest pointedly at his hip, where his pistol is securely holstered.

Nicole chuckles to herself.

“If you think I haven’t had worse odds than a one to five ratio then you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Yeah, me too,” Wynonna adds. “What she said.”

This causes Nicole to throw a wild look at her, mouthing, _‘have you?!_ ’ and Wynonna nods without appearing especially convincing. Although Wynonna had been in a couple of epic bar brawls in her time, this is altogether different.

Waverly is pretty sure that neither she nor her sister have stared down this many armed men before.

Near the back stands a tall, thin man with an alarming array of knives hooked to his belt, bag, and any other space he could find. Waverly wouldn’t mind betting he had more tucked into his jacket.

Suddenly, Carl’s voice is in her mind again. _Borrowed this’un from Jack_ …

The rest of the men seem to have favoured guns, and the close, sticky air comes alive with clicks as they all remove the safety locks on their weapons, forcing Wynonna and Nicole to do the same.

As hard as her heart is hammering, Waverly can’t help but understand why the woman at the back of the room rolled her eyes. Are these guys _seriously_ gonna be that predictable? They even look like they’ve walked out of every terrible Western movie ever made (and boy, were there a lot of those to choose from).

Still, Waverly makes a mental note to speak to Nicole about arming herself too - it might be wise given how trigger- (or knife-) happy the men seem to be.

Trying to appear much braver than she feels, she steps forward and into the no man’s land between the two groups. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees both Wynonna and Nicole stiffen in fear. She understands the impulse - she has just gone and put herself in front of at least twenty firearms

(Some of the men have a gun in each hand, which seems to be the best visual illustration of expediency.)  

“Can you just stop for even a minute?” she asks, directing her comment mostly at the men. “Last time I checked, we were all adults here. Or, if you’re going to act like big babies,” she throws a pointed look at Henry, “then you’re going to have to play nicely.”

Carl - apparently with no capacity to keep his mouth shut - snorts. “Are _you_ really gonna make us?”

Squaring her shoulders, Waverly stares him down. “If I have to, then yes.”

She has no way of following through with such a threat but she is pleased with how brave she sounds - and feels.

Instead of banging her head against a brick wall by talking to the men, Waverly turns instead to Nicole and Wynonna.

She steps back towards her own side and pointedly lays a hand on Nicole’s arm, stretched out taut with her gun held out at the ready. Waverly can feel the strength of the muscle beneath Nicole’s skin and can’t help but note that it feels nice.

“There are other places to dig,” Waverly says, looking Nicole directly in the eye. She keeps her voice quiet but firm and Nicole darts her eyes across Waverly’s face, searching. Waverly silently wills Nicole to see that she has a plan and, with a look of deep trust, Nicole lowers her weapon,

Cautiously, so as not to get shot, they leave, hurrying away down the corridor and out of earshot.

As soon as they are certain that they can’t be heart, Wynonna stops them and turns to Waverly.  

“Okay sis. Tell us what you’re thinking.”

Waverly looks from Wynonna to Nicole and back again, heart soaring at the implicit faith written on both of their faces.

“The floor here is still made of wood, which means that the city goes down at least one storey more,” she says and both Nicole and Wynonna smile, catching on immediately.

“The trick,” Waverly adds, looking to Nicole, “is working out how to get down there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so now we're arriving at the part where they get to the ancient city i feel like i need to give a bit of a disclaimer. 
> 
> i have no formal degrees in ancient egyptian history, haven't taken a class in forever and am kind of relying on memory for history and contemporary geography. as far as i can remember the movie gave like, not a lot of indication as to where hamunaptra would be, so i just ran with that. but kharga oasis is real, /unlike/ good ol' hamunaptra ofc. the pharaohs mentioned in passing so far are real, and of course of course osiris (whose death story is super interesting and trippy in that ancient mythology way - you should look it up if you're not familiar) and anubis are real gods. the golden book is not.
> 
> as we go through and i write more little bits of egyptian history etc in, i'll do my best to say what is (to my knowledge) based on history and what is just either from the movie itself or something i've embellished. i'm not sure if people will be too bothered about this, but on a visceral level i will need to do this lmao. 
> 
> anyway, i think that's everything covered for now - as ever thank you so, so much for reading this (and again big s/o to anja for proofreading). i hope i've already made clear just how special your comments are to me, so if you have time hmu. again, if you don't like leaving reviews here i do check my tumblr (birositabustillos) fairly often and i literally exist constantly on twitter (@rositabustiiios) so come talk all things wynonna earp with me there if you so wish.
> 
> until next week, please do take care!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there are gooey mummies, wynonna&nicole time, history lessons, and the worst flirting topics in history. oh, and waverly might have a little realisation somewhere in there too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! it's a new week and i'm fit to repeat myself like a broken record. thank you again for all the lovely feedback on the last chapter. i'd say that this might be the chapter before the action _really_ gets started - discoveries are made, curses are set into motion, and there's more goo but more the dead guy kind!! oh, and i shoehorned in some wynonna &nicole time bc it's one of my favourite dynamics. 
> 
> thanks as ever to anja for checking this over!! i really hope you enjoy the update, and i'd love to hear what you think.
> 
> more on the history/movie references below

If nothing else over recent days, Waverly has learned to simply trust Nicole to navigate, and not to question how she manages to do it.

Quiet and contemplative as Nicole can often be, Waverly knows that it suffices to say that very little passes her by unnoticed. After keeping tabs on the layout of city all afternoon, she admits that she is finally growing accustomed enough to the strange almost-pattern of the corridors and rooms.

“There _ is _ a hidden logic somewhere. I think,” she says with a laugh.

Once they leave the men at the base of Anubis, it does not take them long to find the route they need.

On their way and at Nicole’s behest, Wynonna fills them in on what little information she had gleaned about  _ Bobo et al. _ during the poker game.

“If you hadn’t noticed, they’re basically a big old group of walking stereotypes. My understanding is that most of them are cons and criminals looking for a fast buck, but I’ll bet that quite a few are ex-hitmen gone rogue. Or, you know, even more rogue I guess. There might even be an ex-merc or two in the mix,” she says, raising her eyebrow at Nicole.

“Whatever you’re thinking: don’t,” Nicole warns, but there is no steel in her voice.

Wynonna grins at her.

“Anyways. It will not shock you to hear that most of the men just want treasure to sell or gold to melt down. And then sell. But, and this is top secret info à la Mr John Henry himself, Bobo has another plan too. One that he has only shared with a select few people.”

“Huh. I wonder why Henry would tell you that,” Nicole says quickly. “He looked like one of the smartest ones there. He’d want you to know for a reason.”

“Yeah. He pretty much hates Bobo, I think. I don’t get the impression that he is here because he wants to be.”

“So, you think that Levi guy and the woman both know too?” Waverly asks on a hunch.

In the darkness, Wynonna nods and the movement of her head is caught in a beam of light. It sends odd, spidery shadows skittering across the walls.

Waverly grimaces. This place really  _ is  _ creepy.

“Yeah, I’d say so. I think pretty much anyone who looks like they have more than two brain cells and wants to run a million miles from here is in on it. Apparently, Bobo Del Rey is not the kind of guy you say ‘no’ to. Not if you owe him something.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Waverly murmurs, remembering the cool disregard on Bobo’s face during their first meeting. “There’s something simmering below the surface with  _ that _ one.”

Nicole hums an agreement. “And I for one would not want to be around when it boils over.”

“Let’s keep that at the forefront of our minds,” Wynonna agrees.

“Well, I’m still suspicious of this Henry guy,” Nicole adds, voice unsure. “He must have an angle - there’s no way he would have told us otherwise.”

Wynonna exhales slowly, and Waverly recognises that she is thinking things over.

“Honestly? I’m pretty certain it’s not as deep as we’re thinking. Either he’s trying to warn us off or he wants to stir the pot a bit. I get the impression there’s no love lost between him and  _ Bobo _ ,” Wynonna says, finally highlighting the ridiculousness of the name.

The three women laugh, all of them vibrating with nervous energy.

Waverly is glad to finally acknowledge a thought that has been playing on her mind since being on that boat.

“I can’t believe so many people are treading on eggshells around a man who calls himself Bobo.”

 

 

 

 

 

It takes them what Waverly assumes is another ten to fifteen minutes of walking and, right as she is beginning to feel a wave of exhaustion hit her, Nicole leads them into an open, cavernous room. Something about it feels incomplete, as though it had once been intended to be made as glorious as the rest of this place, but for some reason it was never brought to its full potential.

It feels somehow draughty down here, but that would be impossible...

“Do you feel that?” Nicole asks quickly. “It almost feels cold in here, not at all stuffy like the rest of this place.”

“Well, I didn’t want to mention it,” Wynonna replies, “but yeah, I kind of noticed it too.”

“There’s something wrong here,” Nicole muses, but Waverly’s attention has already been drawn to the room’s ceiling.

Nicole has done her job perfectly, as usual, and it is evident from the noise above them that they are directly below the men - and the statue. The floors are made up of closely connected wooden planks, maybe even expensive cedar from Babylonia given the importance of the city. However, they are also filled in with earth and what would have been a sort of clayish mud, made up by hand by countless slaves.

Waverly shivers at this legacy of blood.

There is a visible division in the ceiling where this pseudo-clay gets much thicker and the wooden planks end entirely.

“If we’ve done this properly - and we  _ have _ \- we can dig upwards and come up right between Anubis’ legs,” she announces. “So once those disgusting mercenaries call it a day we - oh, shit. Sorry.”

She hurriedly turns to face Nicole. “No offence,” she adds sheepishly.

“I - I honestly don’t know if I should be offended that you thought I’d see a link there,” Nicole jokes with a confident, slanted smile that momentarily throws Waverly off course.

“Oh. Right. Well, sorry about that part, too. No offence intended.”

“None taken,” Nicole assures her, still amused and still incredibly distracting as a result.

_ Wait, what? _

Waverly catches this thought much too late and decides that it this is a can of worms she absolutely doesn’t want to open right now. She isn’t - there’s never been…

Waverly tries to assure herself that she can’t possibly think that about Nicole - for, well,  _ obvious _ reasons - but the churning feeling in her stomach says otherwise.

Feeling as though everything has been turned on its head, she hurries to move back to the issue at hand.

“Well, anyway. Point here being that once they’re gone we can get to that book first. At least I hope we can. I hope the hidden compartment really is there.”

“A hidden compartment?” Nicole blinks. “In that statue?”

“In the base, yeah,” Wynonna supplies.

“And you’re sure we can find it? Well, that you can find it?”

“Yes, definitely. So long as those damn thieves haven’t beaten us to it and stolen an important part of history.” This time, she winces and turns to Wynonna. “No offence.”

“You’ll excuse me if I do my crying in private later Waves,” Wynonna responds drily, making Nicole laugh aloud. Pleased with herself, Wynonna offers her hand out for a high five, which Nicole returns enthusiastically. The sound of it rings around the otherwise empty chamber.

“Don’t encourage her,” Waverly jokes, flashing a pretend glare at Nicole. “She’s mean enough to me as it is.”

Wynonna gives a cry of indignation.

“I have never once been mean to  _ anyone _ . In my  _ life _ .”

 

 

 

 

 

There is little more to be done inside for now, and they all feel tired and thirsty enough that they decide to test Nicole’s navigation skills once again.

Triumphantly, she guides them above ground without a single mishap.

When they emerge into the fresh air they find the day still hot and dry, although the sun is now touching the horizon. The evening is still blisteringly hot but it is nonetheless a welcome reprieve from the overwhelming closeness of being underground.

Nobody mentions the inexplicable coldness in the room beneath the statue - it is easier to believe that they each imagined it.

Once back at their little makeshift camp, they are happy to see that the men have pitched their tents a good distance away.

Waverly is keen to make a few notes on some loose pieces of paper she had found tucked into Levi’s toolkit and she makes instantly for the shelter of the tent.

She is, mostly, happy to leave Wynonna and Nicole to their own devices - sure that whatever mischief Wynonna can find will be mitigated by Nicole’s infinitely calming presence.

They bid her a quiet goodbye and set off together for a lap of the overground city.

Wynonna gives it a few minutes before rounding on Nicole.

“Okay dude. Spill it.”

Nicole furrows her brow, genuinely confused.

“As soon as Waverly mentioned that statue, you pretty much lost the little colour you have.” At this, Nicole goes to elbow Wynonna and they scuffle for a second before Wynonna grows serious again.

“Seriously though Nicole, what’s going on? Because if there’s something we need to know, you need to spill it  _ before _ we start digging. Which, by the way, is going to be pretty difficult with the absolutely zero supplies we have.”

Nicole blinks, disarmed for a moment at Wynonna’s use of her first name. She takes her time in formulating a reply.

“When I was here last...something happened. At that statue. Well, I assume that there’s only one. I’m not sure I can explain it, I’m not even sure I’m remembering it properly. But the fact that this place is weird and creepy isn’t fresh knowledge and it sure as hell isn’t going to stop you or your sister.”

Wynonna gives a single bark of a laugh. “That’s fair, I guess. But if anyone’s gonna believe it when you tell us a bunch of weird shit happened? It’s probably us.”

“I don’t think your sister believed me,” Nicole points out.

“Waverly is. Well, she’s Waverly as you’ll have noticed by now. She does believe you though, it’s just - it’s always been different for her.”

Nicole watches Wynonna’s face, waiting for a better explanation.

Wynonna sighs, exasperated - although quite clearly not with Nicole personally.

“Look - it’s just, really complicated. The usual screwed up family crap.”

Nicole nods. “You don’t  _ have _ to tell me. But you can, if you think it’ll help me understand.”

Wynonna thinks for a moment. “Some of it isn’t mine to tell - it’s about Waverly too, you know.”

“I understand that.”

“ _ God _ you’re annoyingly nice,” Wynonna remarks, grinning.

Nicole returns the look. “That’s definitely  _ exactly _ what I was gunning for.”

Quickly, Wynonna turns serious again. “Look, I’m not about to say that our father had a fantastic relationship with any of us, but I can acknowledge that it was probably best with me. I think he just - didn’t have any expectations on me either way. Which sucked in itself, but it also made it easier in some ways. He kind of foisted all his own broken dreams on Willa, like she was an  _ heir _ or some weird shit, and he pushed her hard to learn all about this stuff,” Wynonna gestures vaguely at their surroundings. “With me he just told the stories.”

“I’m sorry to ask but - Willa?”

“Our elder sister, yeah. She uh,” Wynonna clears her throat, “she died. Years and years ago now. We’re over it - mostly.”

Nicole sends Wynonna a careful look, aware that the comfort she would accept is vastly different to Waverly. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Wynonna gives her a tight smile. “Thanks. Anyway, so. For all the pressure he put on Willa it’s like he had the literal opposite view on Waverly - like he was disappointed in her before she even got going. He just...didn’t bond with her, though we know now why.” Wynonna pauses, looks Nicole up and down. “I can’t tell you though, sorry. I trust you but…”

“It’s Waverly’s thing,” Nicole says; a statement not a question.

“Right. So anyway, much as I did love Dad in my own way he was objectively a shit to Waverly, even though she always lived and breathed this stuff the most. It still doesn’t make any sense to me because of all of us  _ she _ was always going to be the archaeologist. So I think that now she just has thing about all the myths and the curse and shit. She does believe it, I know she does. But - ”

Wynonna breaks off suddenly, running a hand through her hair.

“I really don’t know how to explain this properly. I’m screwing it up.”

“No,” Nicole says quickly. “No I understand. The curses and myths, they’re your father. Like, they represent him. She’s torn between embracing something that reminds her of feeling small and just believing what she wants, deep down, to believe.”

Wynonna shoves at Nicole again.

“You’re literally like one of those motivational posters they put in school cafeterias.”

Nicole laughs again, understanding a clear signal that the conversation is closed. She is nothing if not happy to respect boundaries.  

“I thought you said bumper sticker earlier?”

“You can be two things Haught. Two dumb, weird things.”

“Well, how about some extra oh-so  _ dumb _ motivation then? Because you mentioned supplies earlier, and I think I have an idea about that.

 

 

 

 

 

They return to Waverly laden down with a selection of shovels, pickaxes, and a length of rope that Wynonna had wanted to leave behind but Nicole deemed useful.

Even more precariously, they are both also balancing at a couple of full water bottles on their person.

One of the most improbable things is that Hamunaptra has a water source. It shouldn’t really be possible, but there it is nonetheless. Wynonna and Nicole stumble upon it by chance and fill up the water bottles they had brought with them for their walk.  It is only a tiny oasis, but it would be enough to supply them all so long as they are sustainable about it.

When they tell Waverly about it, she muses aloud that it might be the reason that the site was chosen for Hamunaptra. Internally, however, she can only think uneasily of the impossibility of this entire place.

It is situated completely in the middle of nowhere, with no sense of how the ancient builders might have transported the materials or the labour needed to construct the city. The truth is that, even leaving aside the way it rose out of the sand and is probably cursed to the teeth, Hamunaptra shouldn’t exist. But then again, the pyramids should have been impossible to build all those years ago, Abu Simbel and maybe even Karnak too.

The scope of ancient people’s determination and ingenuity has been impressing scholars for years - dwelling on things which only make her feel uneasy is no use to Waverly right now.

Besides, there is a more pressing matter at hand.

Waverly gives both Wynonna and Nicole a stony look.

“What the hell is all of this?”

“Something we’ve borrowed off our new friends,” Wynonna answers proudly, throwing everything down with a clatter. Nicole lays her supplies more delicately next to Wynonna’s before sitting down next to Waverly.

“I thought you were a cop,” Waverly says sternly. “You should be intervening in this kind of crime, you know.”

“If you want to get to this book of yours, then we’re going to need tools,” Nicole points out reasonably. “We’ll put them back later; they’ve brought so many spares they probably won’t even know that a few have been temporarily checked out. Ergo,” she says as she gestures grandly at Wynonna, “ _ borrowing _ .”

“Plus,” Wynonna adds, plonking down on Nicole’s other side, “it absolutely killed her to take them without asking first. I had to stop her coming back for a pen and paper so she could leave a note.”

 

 

 

 

 

They creep back inside once dusk has fallen and most of the men have congregated to share food and liberal amounts of drink.

The three of them take great pains to ensure they are not seen, and they manage to slip underground without attracting attention.

Nicole had hidden herself behind and old pillar for nearly an hour, waiting for the satellite group of men from earlier to return. They seem to be working late however, and the three of them decide they will have to risk being heard from upstairs. It is only a matter of time before the men find the book.

Waverly does not especially relish the use of such underhand tactics, and she senses that they wouldn’t normally sit well with Nicole either. Neither of them says much about it, however, because by now, Bobo or his men had nearly slain Waverly in her cabin, almost killed them all in a boat fire, and then laughed in their faces to see them stranded with nothing. It had started to feel a little personal.

They reach the room without getting lost, again thanks to Nicole who, upon arrival, offers to take the first digging stint. There is little point them all attacking the ceiling together; it is dangerous and a perfect example of too many cooks at one pot.

Keen to get out of the way, Waverly and Wynonna take a good few steps back and observe. And, as far as Waverly is concerned the scene is, well, it’s certainly...something.

They had each struggled to know how to prepare for digging down here. The physical effort would be hot work, but the room itself was undeniably chilly. In the end, they had all risked being too cold over too hot (at the very least it would make a nice change.)

As such, it leaves Waverly with little option but to watch as Nicole, stripped down to only a dark tank top and khaki-coloured canvas shorts, repetitively swings a pickaxe upwards at the earthen part of the ceiling.

In fairness, Waverly probably could look elsewhere but no matter how much she wants to take that option, her eyes keep disobeying.

It is not the first time that the physical effects of Nicole’s training have been evident to Waverly, but seeing the play of muscles in her arms and shoulders right now is kind of a lot to handle.

It isn’t an entirely fun experience, being left with her own quiet thoughts in this scenario. The worry in Waverly’s stomach had settled recently, as she had slipped into the Nicole- and Wynonna-approved method of crossing a bridge when she arrived at it. (The desert really  _ had _ done Waverly some good.) But while she has stopped putting pressure on herself about the book, now she finds that she is battling against something else entirely.

Today has not been the first day that she has lost herself to thoughts of Nicole, but it is the first time she has really seen the thoughts for what they are; or, at least, for what they  _ might _ be.

Waverly feels stupid now, but she had never really considered it before. She always dated guys - granted not always the  _ best _ guys - and she had always just assumed. Her relationships never ended because the men were, well, male but because they were assholes.

But, as she sits in the cool sand and watches a delicate line of sweat play down the back of Nicole’s neck, Waverly is starting to wonder if she has some thinking to do.

She doesn’t know how she feels about... _ that _ right now, only that if she was going to have this realisation she would rather have had it at literally any other point in her life.

Being stuck in Hamunaptra with a bunch of potentially hostile men racing her for the city’s historically valuable treasure is one thing. Now she has to worry, in addition to everything else, about whether her own straightness has been an illusion this entire goddamn time.

She huffs quietly to herself.  _ Not right now thanks... _

While Waverly watches Nicole work in still and contemplative silence, Wynonna makes up for it by heckling Nicole good-naturedly for the both of them.

“Come on Haught, put your back into it. Do you even  _ have _ any muscles at all? I thought you were ex-military?” she calls with a laugh, as sand cascades down around them with every  _ thud _ of the axe.

Digging upwards without sufficient precautions is almost certainly unspeakably dangerous, but that could easily have been the tagline for every waking moment of the past few days, so they all carry on regardless.

At this point, danger isn’t even a viable cause for remark.

Nicole pauses, top of the pickaxe embedded in the ceiling. She flicks her hair, a red beacon in the gloom of the chamber, and turns to face Wynonna for a moment. In the yellow beam from their flashlights, they can see all the bits of ground stuck to her face where she has sweated.

It shouldn’t be adorable, but somehow it is. Waverly feels her resolve to simply  _ not think about all this right now _ shake slightly.

Nicole tries to send a look of challenge at Wynonna, but the expression gets stuck somewhere between a playful glare and a grin that she can’t quite tamp down fast enough.

“Just you wait until it’s your turn to dig Earp. Just you wait.”

She enunciates each word, trying for menacing and falling somewhat short.

However, when it does come to Wynonna’s turn to dig, Nicole’s warning proves more apt than any of them could have imagined.

With Wynonna’s first strike at the ceiling, two things happen at once - so fast that it takes everyone involved a moment to process it all.

One storey above the women, Henry and the other men abruptly stop their own digging - so loud that they hadn’t registered the interlopers below - as their tools hit the side of something metal. The clash rings in the chamber and, immediately, Henry and Levi share a look.

They had hoped not to find Bobo’s secret compartment and yet - there it was. Together, they watch as Carl hauls a large, heavy box out of the hole, dropping it carelessly to the floor.

“No!”

Both Henry and Levi cry out at once, urging more caution, but they are too late to stop the lid slipping off the box in a cloud of sand and dust.

“What? It’s heavy?” Carl tries to say, but he is inaudible beneath the unnatural sound that accompanies the opening of the box. It is high pitched enough to be passed off as a rush of disturbed air from within, but there are those present who know it to be something closer to a scream, a howl.  

Momentarily forgetting his fear - if the legends are true everyone in this room is damned already - Levi steps closer to the box, removing its wooden lid fully.

“Holy crap,” he breathes - ineloquent but not unjustified, given the moment - as he reveals a large, wrapped object within. He draws back a scrap of dirty, half-rotten cloth to reveal the dark, polished cover of an old book.

“I knew it,” he says quietly, almost reverent. “I knew it existed; the  _ Book of the Damned _ ”

“A book?” Carl echoes, unimpressed. “I thought we were coming here for treasure? What the hell kind of good is a book?”

“If you’d read a few more in your life Carl, you probably wouldn’t need us to answer that question,” a voice from outside calls.

Carl glowers.

“Shut the hell up, Rosita,” he snarls as the woman returns to the room, arms full of fresh digging supplies, and completely oblivious to what has just happened.

She freezes halfway across the room the moment she sees the box. Her eyes track from Henry, to the book, and back again.

“You  _ opened _ it?”

“Carl,” comes the response from the other men in unison.

Rosita rounds on him, eyes afire.

“Do you have  _ any _ idea what you’ve done?”

Henry grimaces. “I think you know the answer to that question. I wouldn’t worry about it anyway -  _ you  _ weren’t here when the idiot did it.”

Rosita considers this for a moment. “You really think it works like that?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

Carl, however, is not content to be insulted and ignored. “More importantly: where the hell’s my treasure?”

“Next to the book,  _ idiot _ ,” Rosita says, voice dangerous and low as she passes by Carl to finally place the supplies on the floor. She gives the box a wide berth, just to be safe, but everyone else gathers closer to investigate whatever Rosita had seen.

Packaged beside the book are four delicate jars, some more intact than others, each with a stopper fashioned in different shapes; three animal and one human.

“There's your treasure,” Henry says curtly, and Carl quickly snatches up the most well-preserved jar, the one with what appears to be most gold leaf remaining. At this, Red - who had helped only somewhat with the digging - appears from the side of the room to claim the next finest jar.

With nothing further to interest them now, they head for the surface in misguidedly high spirits.

“Any excuse to show off,” Henry grumbles to himself. “ _ Stupid _ Carl.”

“There's one for you Doc, if you want it,” Levi says cautiously and watches as the other man runs his fingers gently across the tiny head of a stylised falcon.

“What use is it going to do me?” Henry asks with a bitter laugh. “We were all cursed the second that box got opened.” He glances to Rosita. “Well, some of us.”

He isn’t bitter, if anything he is relieved that some of the good people here might get away unscathed. He is, however, exceptionally tired.

“I know,” Levi says quickly, sounding defeated. “I told them to be more careful, but there's no reasoning with them.”

“It doesn't matter anyway, because you know as well as I do that the second you give that book to Bobo we're all as good as dead, starting with the Earps and their army friend first, the rest of us second.”

“He hasn't found the mummy yet,” Levi reasons quietly, not meeting Doc’s eye. “We still have a chance.”

“Well, we all better make sure he  _ doesn’t _ find it. Ever.” Doc snatches up the jar in frustration before stepping towards the doorway. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but Christ do I need a drink,” he says before stalking away.

 

 

 

 

 

Unbeknownst to the men and Rosita, one floor beneath them half the ceiling has given way. As it does so, and amidst a veritable avalanche of dry earth and small rocks, a huge stone casket falls downwards with an almighty crash.

It is nothing less than a small miracle that it lands between each of the three women below, and there is no reasonable explanation why no one else hears the commotion.

Nonetheless, the macabre discovery remains for Wynonna, Waverly, and Nicole alone although it takes them a small while to register what has just happened.

The dust cloud slowly settles and each of them stands in wide-eyed, slack-jawed awe.

Eventually, Wynonna breaks the silence, pickaxe still in her hand.

“You  _ see _ Haught. Easy? I knew you weren’t putting your back into it enough.”

“Dude, I just didn’t like ninety-nine percent of the work for you.”

If the moment weren’t completely wrong, Waverly might be able to acknowledge how comical Nicole looks with the whites of her eyes framed by liberal amounts of brown dust.

In spite of their attempts to joke this off, both of their voices are weak with shock.

Finally, Nicole turns to Waverly. “I thought you wanted a book, not a dead guy. That is - that is what I th- this is a  _ coffin _ , right?”

“A sarcophagus, yes,” Waverly confirms, voice barely above a whisper. “And it was buried at the base of Anubis.”

“Uh huh,” Wynonna agrees, clearly understanding the implications.

Nicole, however, has no clue what any of this means. “And that’s good?” she tries hopefully, voice pitching up as she guesses. She registers the looks on the sisters’ faces. “Bad?” she tries again, tone now hollow in certainty. “Of course it’s gonna be bad.”

Waverly swallows nervously.

“I mean. It could be that they were really important and this was an honour,” she says, not sounding very convincing and clearly leaving something unsaid.

“Or…?” Nicole prompts.

“Or,” Waverly looks hesitant, eyes shifting between her companions, “they did something very, very bad and this,” she gestures at their location, “was for protection.”

“What?” Nicole nods at the casket, “ _ their _ protection?” she tries, already knowing the answer but aiming to live in hope a little longer.

“I wish,” Wynonna supplies. “The ancients would have wanted Anubis to protect  _ them _ from the dead guy.”

 

 

 

 

 

Wynonna and Nicole wait anxiously for Waverly to translate the hieroglyphics on the lid of the sarcophagus. In theory, Wynonna has enough knowledge of the language to help out, but Waverly is quicker and sometimes better left to her own devices once she zones into a task.

She leans in, nose practically pressed against the stone, reading as quickly as she can.

“Well?” Wynonna asks suddenly, when she can take the silence no more. Both Nicole and Waverly start at the suddenness of the question.

Everyone feels on edge, although they won’t admit it.

“It’s difficult,” Waverly announces, tone frustrated. “Things don’t translate perfectly into modern English and most of the original carvings have been chiselled off. It’s really hard to read.”

“Is that normal?” Nicole asks, “taking off the inscriptions, I mean.”

Waverly shakes her head. “Not at all. The Egyptians were superstitious, they believed in providing their dead with everything they’d need in the afterlife. The richer you were, the more stuff they put in your tomb. But this person, they’ve been denied even the basic protective spells to get them past Ammit - ”

“Ammit,” Wynonna interjects at Nicole’s wild look. “Weird old crocodile-cat who ate your soul if you were too bad to make it into heaven. You waited while they weighed your heart against a feather - ”

Nicole raises her eyebrows. “A  _ feather _ ?”

“Yeah this goddess - Maat - her feather of truth. It’s symbolic. Anyway, if your heart was heavier, Ammit ate your soul” Wynonna explains and Nicole nods.

“Thanks. Sorry, go on,” she says to Waverly. “I’m caught up.”

“No, sorry - I get carried away sometimes,” Waverly looks faintly sheepish.

“Don’t apologise, I think it’s amazing,” Nicole says with a shrug. “Like, you just know all this stuff at the drop of a hat - coffin, whatever.” Quickly, Nicole clears her throat, regaining some focus. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Well, even petty criminals got their spells or an amulet or two. Not making it past Ammit was a huge deal, naturally. This was serious, serious stuff for ancients.”

“They pretty much used their lives to prepare for death, especially if they were rich,” Wynonna adds. “ _ That’s _ how seriously they took it.”

Nicole nods, processing everything as quickly as possible. “Right. So this person was - ”

“Condemned, yes,” Waverly agrees. “For eternity.”

“Ouch. Wonder what they did,” Nicole mutters. “Or who they were.”

“The sarcophagus just says  _ He That Shall Not Be Named _ ,” Waverly announces, biting her lip. “Or, that’s basically what it says - accounting for language. Nameless, without identity - you get the idea. But definitely male.”

This lack of a name is, if anything, the thing that worries Waverly the most.

A celebrated person would have been named more than once; this was an important part of the Ancient Egyptian belief system. You got your name written in a cartouche because, as a stylised and neverending rope, it symbolised eternity. Your name, encased forever. This person had been robbed of their eternity and their identity.

“Please do not tell me, after the week we’re all having, that Voldemort is in that coffin,” Nicole quips, trying for some levity again - even just for a moment. Happily, this makes Wynonna snort and it dispels some of the tension in the room.

“For God’s sake, do not start her on the Harry Potter references again,” she warns Nicole.

Nicole scowls. “Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking it.”

“Nope, not even once,” Wynonna retorts, crossing her arms in defiance.

“Waverly?” Nicole tries and, in spite of everything, Waverly allows herself a small smile.

“It crossed my mind,” she admits and Nicole quietly celebrates.

“Oh yeah that’s great validation to have, coming from super nerd over there.”

“Guys while I really do appreciate you lightening the mood, I think we kind of do need to focus for a sec. The giant falling coffin clearly houses someone very bad indeed.” Waverly catches Nicole’s questioning look and explains the significance of the missing name.

“I rest my case on the nerd thing,” Wynonna points out.

“Don’t let her convince you that she doesn’t know all this stuff too,” Waverly huffs. “May I remind you of all the afterlife information she just gave you. She’s just as big of a nerd.”

“It  _ has _ been noted,” Nicole says smoothly as she joins Waverly to examine the sarcophagus more closely.

Nicole points immediately to a part of the stone which has been cut out. The indent is shaped into a strange, eight-pronged star. Carved in the very centre is some kind of insect.

“This thing with the bug - it kind of looks like a lock,” she says, “or am I just showing my ignorance now?”

At this, Wynonna joins them. “Nope, I’m with you. I mean, look at this thing. The stone must be five inches thick, it’d take us months to break in. They must have literally locked a body inside. This guy certainly wasn’t getting out, whoever he was. Well, not without the k-”

Wynonna grinds quickly into complete silence as all three of them share a look of sudden realisation.

“Stupid Carl - ” Nicole says.

“Holy shit, he called it a key,” Wynonna says, picking up the thread. “Damn, now we have to call him not so stupid Carl.”

“Wynonna forget that, give me the box,” Waverly says urgently, ignoring Wynonna when she calls her ‘bossy’.

Waverly scans the side of the box - in the hurry to leave for Beni Suef she never  _ did _ finish translating it - until she finds the instructions she needs. It’s pretty dense stuff - fingers here, pressure exactly there, but eventually she figures it out.

The little octagonal box clicks and it’s eight faces spring outwards as though the hinges were made and oiled only yesterday. She holds the box - the  _ key _ \- out, measuring it against the indentation in the coffin. It fits perfectly.

“I think we need to turn it,” she says, looking to Wynonna and Nicole for affirmation.

“Okay,” Nicole says suddenly, “I just have to say this real quick. This is the corpse of a guy who did something  _ so _ bad they sent him to have his soul eaten by a crocodile.”

“Yes,” Waverly confirms.

“They locked the dead body inside a coffin, as if they thought it might get out. They  _ buried _ it by some jackal God so he could protect the living people from the dead man.”

Waverly nods. “Looks like it, yes.”

“Perhaps even worse still, Bobo probably knew all about this dead dude, because he wanted the key - guys, _ he knew it was a key -  _ for himself.” Nicole raises her eyebrows in a pointed illustration of how far they should probably run from this casket and the person within.

“All very valid points,” Wynonna says with an approving nod. “Good summary - you were listening.”

Nicole sighs when nothing more is said. She runs a hand through her hair, unintentionally dislodging some more dust.

“But you're both going to open it anyway,” she concludes, resigned.

“Pretty much,” Wynonna agrees, “so you might as well help us shift the lid.”

Waverly turns the key and, with a considerable amount of effort, the three of them slide the top of the sarcophagus off together.

“Oh,” Waverly and Wynonna say at once, peering into the coffin and wearing identical looks of confusion.

While they both draw closer, Nicole recoils and wrinkles her nose at the sight and smell that meets her.

“Is it supposed to look like that?”

“No way,” Wynonna says with a disdainful shake of her head. “I've seen a lot of mummies but never one that looks like that. He's all…”

“ _ Gooey, _ ” Waverly and Nicole supply together.

It is decidedly not the professional term, but it really is the best way to describe the sight before them.

The mummy is blackened with age and looks nothing like any mummies they have ever seen firsthand. Most mummies, dried out and well preserved, are laid out in peaceful repose - so as to be gawked at by passing tourists.

This mummy, however, looks anything but peaceful. Its jaw was jutted outwards at a strange, sideways angle, as the man was crying out in a silent scream. His arms weren’t folded over neatly, but slung carelessly over the half-rotted torso.

The most glaringly obvious thing, however, was that the mummy seemed to be wet. The darkened wrappings were glistening in the glow of the flashlight and, if they were in any doubt as to  _ why _ the guy looked like this, then the accompanying smell told them all they needed to know.  

“He must be over three thousand years old, and he’s still decomposing,” Waverly says, musing aloud.

“But I thought that was what mummification was about, partly. Drying out the body and so on?” Nicole asks, feeling more and more out of her depth as the day went on.

“No, you’re right,” Waverly assures her, bending slightly closer to the mummy and looking far too intrigued by its gruesome appearance.

But getting quite that close is too much even for Wynonna.

“Ugh gross. You know what? I’m good, I think I’m done for the day.” She passes another tight look over the dead body in front of them. “Yep, let’s punch out, hit the bar.”

Nicole nods, nose still wrinkled. “Seconded. I almost wish it  _ had _ been Voldemort now.”

As they go to make a move, Wynonna catches the look on Waverly’s face.

“Please do not tell me that you want to stay down here any longer,” Wynonna says before shaking her head and looking at Nicole. “What am I saying? Of course she does.”

Half-amused at Waverly’s tenacity, Nicole tells Wynonna to head back up.

“I’ll wait it out down here with your sister and You-Know-Who for a little longer,” she adds.

“You can both go, it’s fine,” Waverly mumbles absently, now inspecting the inside of the sarcophagus’ lid. “I’m not going to stay long.”

“You really want to stay down here alone with this guy?” Nicole asks, slightly incredulous.

“Honestly, don’t bother,” Wynonna advises knowingly, collecting up their tools. “There’s no point reasoning with her when she goes all archaeologist.”

“I  _ am _ an archaeologist, at least on paper,” Waverly points out. “Besides, it may have escaped your notice, the two of you, but this guy’s dead. I’m probably safer with him than you are above ground with Bobo’s men.”

“So long as there’s whiskey,” Wynonna retorts with a shrug, but Nicole doesn’t look convinced. She hovers for a moment, torn.

“ _ Nicole _ ,” Waverly says with a soft smile, “it’s fine. The mummy’s not going to come back to life.” It is meant to be a joke, but Nicole’s expression only hardens further.

“Fine. But if you’re not back in like an hour I’m coming back down. You do know your way, don’t you?”

Waverly, already engrossed again, only hums. “Mmhm.”

Laughing at the look on Nicole’s face, Wynonna hands her half of their borrowed tools.

“Come on  _ hero _ . Let’s go.”

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly hurries back to the tent, barely registering that night has fallen and the place is now as dark above ground as below.

She snags her feet in the loose sand, continuing on undeterred and barely looking at the route ahead of her.

“Guys, look what I found!” Waverly trills, once in the vicinity of the tent. “There were insect skeletons in with our friend, I think they - oh,” she breaks off suddenly, and stands stock still.

Nicole and Wynonna are not alone.

“Evening, Miss Earp,” Henry greets her, touching the brim of his hat.

“I didn’t realise we had company,” Waverly says pointedly, taking in the liquor bottle sat between them, missing about a third of its contents.

Sat beside Wynonna, the woman from the boat raises her hand in a less than jaunty wave.

“Yeah, hi.” It should be rude, but Waverly appreciates the candour - this woman does not want to be here amongst these ruins and the men in Bobo’s camp. It is nice, Waverly thinks, to see that this unknown woman won’t waste her time pretending.

“It wasn’t planned,” Nicole adds in an equally dark tone. Clearly, she is still suspicious and not particularly worried about showing it. “But Henry here - who said we should call him _ Doc _ \- wanted to see how we’re getting along.”

“It was my understanding that you ladies hadn’t found anything of note,” Doc says, addressing Waverly directly, “but now I see that I was mistaken. A new friend, you say? And what, might I ask, is that about?”

“I think you know we’re not going to tell you that,” Waverly replies stonily, closing her hand around the tiny bug skeletons, as if Doc seeing them would make any real difference. She doesn’t even know what species they are, and she has been staring at them for the past twenty minutes.

“We’ll tell you ours if you tell us yours,” Wynonna says suddenly and Doc smiles. Nicole, on the other hand, looks like she wants to shoot Wynonna.

Doc pretends to consider the offer. “Well that  _ does  _ seem like a fair accord to me.”

The woman, however, sighs impatiently and fiddles with the end of her long ponytail. “We got one wooden chest with a - ”

“A joblot of these here pots,” Dolls supplies quickly, pointing to the jar at his feet and flashing a look at his friend.

“One boring ass mummy from a sarcophagus that tried to kill us when it fell out the ceiling,” Wynonna recounts, businesslike. “About good for keeping our fire lit.”

Still standing, Waverly thinks it obvious to every person around the fire that both parties are lying by omission. Or just plain lying, in Wynonna’s case. Waverly does her best to keep her features neutral - if the men found the box then they found the book.

It’s over.

“Interesting,” Doc muses, “and where did you find such a thing? Not at that statue we met you by earlier, I shouldn’t think?”

“Other side of town,” Wynonna says smoothly, tone biting and sharp. “And yourselves? That all you found by our buddy Anubis?”

“Sure is,” Doc lies brightly, picking up his little prize. “Not that I know what the hell it is, ‘cept that it has gold on it.”

“Canopic jars,” Waverly says dully, the explanation a knee-jerk reaction. She knows he isn’t actually asking for a history lesson.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your ‘pots’. They’re called canopic jars. There are four to represent the four primary directions on a compass. The ancient Egyptians used them to store the organs of people they mummified. You almost certainly have a set of intestines in that jar.”

Doc pauses, considering the jar with an amount of distaste. “Well, isn’t that something,” he says mildly and points at the falcon-shaped stopper. “And this guy is…?”

“Qebehsenuef. One of the sons of Horus,” Waverly explains, the long name easy on her tongue. “Your...friends no doubt have his three brothers by now. They should at least be catalogued for posterity, you know.”  

“I did tell them that,” the woman says from across the fire, “but they never listen.”

“To be fair Rosita, I think you lost them at ‘carbon dating’,” Doc points out, and the woman - Rosita - shrugs.

“I’m getting at least  _ one _ back to the lab if it kills me. Don’t worry,” she says to Waverly, “I’m going to try and get pictures.”

Waverly smiles, suitably impressed. “You’re an archaeologist?”

Rosita pulls a face. “Paleontology, if you had to pick one or the other but even then I prefer to work on a molecular level. I like natural history better - I’m all about seeing the DNA of this old stuff, you know?”

Waverly nods, happy to know that Bobo has at least one or two scholars on his team. Before they can continue talking, however, Doc cuts them short.

“Well,” Doc says, rising, “you both certainly know your stuff. I shall be careful with this jar and I advise you all to practice similar caution with your... _ friend _ . Don’t mention it to anyone else here,” he warns them ambiguously, before touching his hat again and drifting away, leaving them with a parting wish for a good evening.

Rosita rises too, much more slowly than Doc.

“He’s right,” she says quietly. “It would have been better if none of us had found...you know. Bobo will kill us - and I mean that literally - if he finds out we’ve been here. Just, be careful.”

With that, she straightens her shirt and follows in Doc’s path.

Once they are both out of earshot, Wynonna curses.

“Do you think those assholes have the book?”

“They must do,” Waverly replies dejectedly, sitting heavily down by the fire that Nicole must have put together. “They found the chest at the statue. It was all a waste of time after all.”

“ _ Hey _ ,” Nicole says suddenly, affronted at the implication, and Waverly starts at the strength of Nicole’s conviction. “You guys have proven the existence of an  _ impossible _ city, I’d hardly call that a waste of time.”

Waverly does not look convinced. “I guess so.”

Nicole squeezes Waverly’s hand briefly.

“We’ll sort this, okay? Men like Bobo always have a price. Don’t give up just yet, okay?”

This time, Waverly manages a weak but genuine smile.

“Now tell me,” Nicole goes on, satisfied with even a small grin from Waverly. “They really stored all the organs in jars?”

Waverly knows she is trying to distract her, but she appreciates the gesture nonetheless. Plus, she would never turn down an excuse to talk about one of her favourite gory details.

“Well, not all the organs. Just the lungs, stomach, intestines, and liver.”

“Why only those?”

Waverly fixes her with a knowing look. “I do see what you’re doing, you know.”

Nicole shrugs. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Waverly just continues looking until Nicole gives in.

“Oh, so what? I’m here, you know everything there is to know about this stuff - ”

“I wouldn’t say  _ everything _ ,” Waverly points out reasonably.

“Practically everything, if we’re griping,” Nicole concedes. She studies Waverly for a second in the dark, before flashing her a deep, meaningful grin. “So go on,  _ educate me _ .”

Waverly does her best not shiver, but fails completely. She wonders how much of the missing whiskey is now in Nicole’s system for her to be so plain, and then realises suddenly that she could use a stiff drink herself.

She snatches up the bottle, taking a swig and keeping her gaze fixed on Nicole as she swallows.

Sure, she can take a challenge.  

“The ancients thought they were needed in the next life,” she says, not really sure how to make the subject matter fit this new, slightly suggestive tone between them. It is so incongruous as to be laughable, but Waverly has never been one to give in first. “The heart stays in the body, since they think it’s the seat of the soul. They don’t even consider the brain.”

Nicole nods, listening intently. When she speaks again her voice has slightly lost the edge from before. Whatever tone they had been going for, organ removal was kind of a buzzkill regardless.

“Do I want to know about where that goes?”

“ _ No _ ,” Wynonna adds emphatically. “If my input is worthy of consideration here,” she adds pointedly, in reference to the mood between Nicole and Waverly.

“In this case, no. I want to talk about it,” Waverly says, sticking out her tongue at her sister. “So they basically got this hooked poker thing and stuck it up the dead person’s nose - ”

Although far from squeamish, Wynonna doesn’t quite have the same taste for the macabre.

“If you’re gonna do this again I’m turning in,” Wynonna says standing suddenly, as if the thin fabric of the tent would in any way protect her. She picks another bottle out of her seemingly well-stocked supply and bids them both a good night, disappearing before Waverly can ask how she carried so much liquor across the desert.

“Again?” Nicole asks, looking vaguely concerned.

“Everyone likes the gory historical details really,” Waverly replies, unconcerned.

“Well, I think I got the idea on this one,” Nicole says with a laugh, before Waverly can continue the story. “And I would like the record to reflect that, if I don’t make it out of here, I do not want you to sign me up for mummification.”

“Duly noted and same here,” Waverly says, sniggering and taking another swig of whiskey, grimacing at how it burns on the way down.

“It’s bad, right?” Nicole says of the liquor, even as she takes the bottle out of Waverly’s hand and takes a healthy gulp. “But it’s been a while since I had an alcoholic drink of any kind.”

“I’ll bet,” Waverly murmurs sympathetically. “Obviously it’s pretty frowned upon here, and I respect that, but I used to drink a lot more when I was at college.”

She adds this detail more to have something to say than with any real intention of further discussion, but Nicole smiles, clearly caught up in a couple of memories of her own.

“I can relate to that.”

Waverly takes the bottle again with a smile on her lips that looks like a challenge.

“Do you want to start or shall I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm well...there's a lot of setup here and i hope that from here on we'll start to see quite a few of those threads unravelling more (yes, in That sense too). 
> 
> okay! so time for a few notes on what's been included here -
> 
>   * anubis the jackal god was, perhaps for obvious reasons, the god of death/the dead and embalming. anubis watched over the mummifying process in some way. the addition of someone 'evil' being buried at the base of anubis for protection is purely from the original movie - zero historical basis as far as i'm aware. the only link would be images of anubis included in the mummification and funerary processes.
>   * i've switched the name of the black book from the movie version 'the book of the dead' to my own version, 'the book of the damned'. the ancient egyptian book of the dead existed and was an important funerary text (or, collection of texts), often described more as a book of coming into the light. i know it technically doesn't _matter_ if the black book in the mummy movie is referred to as the book of the dead, but it was such an important ancient text that i wanted to switch the words.
>   * as far as my memory of what i knew about canopic jars goes, what i included was fairly okay information-wise. organs weren't _always_ put in them, so sometimes they were symbolic
>   * cartouches (the things you see ancient egyptian names in) are an elongated version of the _shen_ symbol - a circle of rope knotted at the bottom to represent eternity. the symbolism of including names in a shen is, i believe, therefore pretty obvious and also pretty nice imo
>   * the thing about ammit, your heart, and maat's feather of truth really was an ancient egyptian belief. i'm sure one of the main pieces of common knowledge here - that they discarded the brain but revered the heart and left it in the body of dead people - has prevailed, and is also the reason why the heart was weighed; it was the seat of the soul and therefore representative of the 'weight' of all the good/bad deeds you'd ever done in life
>   * i still don't know why the people in the movie buried the sarcophagus in almost the same place as the one (1) thing you don't want paired up with it, but i'm running with it
>   * i once read a post online somewhere (probably tumblr) that perfectly summed up my frustration with media where texts (esp ancient texts!!!) are translated into english and always rhyme and sound perfectly poetic. the tp included some hilarious examples and although doing that didn't quite fit the scene here, it was at the forefront of my mind when having Waverly at least say that it was difficult to make the words on the coffin make sense in english.
> 

> 
> okay, history lesson over!!! (sorry...or not sorry, depending on your feelings on history). feel free to correct anything that i claim to is real and actually isn't - i know some of the parts of the movie are inaccurate, so i'll keep trying to say if i'm following movie canon that's actually not real. not sure how helpful/interesting it is, but it's fun to include.
> 
> anyway, that's all for now. i hope everyone has a fantastic week and takes care. i would really, really love to hear from you all below, on tumblr: birositabustillos, or twitter: @rositabustiiios


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fireside flirting, more "borrowing" of dangerous items, some angry bugs, and some very, very bad decisions all ensue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all! happy monday to everyone, i hope it's been a good start to the week for you all. fingers crossed i can help a little with getting over that hurdle a bit, as chapter 7 is all ready and waiting for you guys below. 
> 
> i don't actually have a lot to add to this chapter, it's mostly an introspective waverly piece, where she reflects on a lot but mostly, of course, on her feelings for nicole. i hope you enjoy the pining/flirting - it's one of my favourite parts of any slow burn!!
> 
> just one note to make -- for the purposes of this fic, i have elected to ignore that - at 22 - Waverly is probably too young to be in the academic position she finds herself in, and i just stuck with her canon birthday for the purposes of one (1) joke which you will see below. i hope you're cool to just go with it! 
> 
> okay, so that's all for now - my sincerest thanks and love to anja for reading through as ever!!! i hope you enjoy the update

As implausible as it seems, life continues on in something of a regular routine. 

Neither of the two groups has sufficient supplies to sustain them for a particularly long time, especially factoring in a return journey, so everything is done with a rather frantic and competitive edge. 

It does not help fraying tempers that everyone is hungry, dirty, and on the brink of heat exhaustion (or, honestly, just general exhaustion).   

The morning after the discovery of the mummy, Waverly half expects Bobo to come storming around demanding it for himself. For reasons unbeknownst to Waverly, however, it would seem that Doc and Rosita had kept quiet, because no one else appears to know that the dead guy is down there. 

Waverly, Nicole, and Wynonna all rise early that next morning, keen to check that the casket’s descent hadn’t created too great a hole in the floor above. They cover up any cracks and gaps to keep Bobo’s men from peering down and seeing the sarcophagus.

The rest of their day - and numerous days afterwards - are spent cataloguing everything else in the city. Wynonna and even, to a degree, Nicole fall into the habit of ironically describing the task as treasure-hunting, almost to see Waverly’s response. 

(Secretly, she kind of enjoys the teasing - it feels nice to have that level of camaraderie.)

Nonetheless, Waverly prefers to term the work ‘looking for anything of historical significance’ although, of course, that net is a particularly wide one. The whole place is historically significant.

On top the pickaxe and shovels, Wynonna also “borrows” a camera from Bobo’s men - an old school one that is operated with three triple-As and doesn’t need to be recharged. The idea is to give Waverly a chance to keep a visual record of what they see, which will give them a lot more credibility when reporting the find. 

It has the added bonus of allowing Waverly to work on translations outside in the natural sunlight, which - although headache-inducing - is much less trying on her eyes than the dim light of the tunnels.

She has to be careful about battery power on the camera; Nicole does have some spare batteries because, well, _obviously_ she does but they are limited in number. Nevertheless, aside from this Waverly is in her element.

She allows herself to forget about the book for a while, delving into the history that still survives below ground. With the exception of the cavern in which the mummy now sits, each and every underground wall is simply covered in writing and art. 

It will take her months to translate the hieroglyphs entirely, but her quick skim-reading gives her an initial pictorial record of the city’s origin story.

Here, the walls really can talk.

They tell Waverly of the royal family that founded the city, moving gradually to the families who built it and, eventually, citing those who completed Hamunaptra. Rarely in ancient times did those who started a project live to see it completed - building was too slow and lifespans were too short.

It was an act of pure love and passion then, even as it would be now, to design something so significant in the knowledge that you would never see it finished.

Still, Waverly takes the glowing terms used in the writing with a pinch of salt. The texts were commissioned by the kings they described - these kinds of records were seldom insulting.

Conspicuous entirely by his absence, however, is the dead man who lays in wait beneath their feet.

His mere presence here doesn’t make sense. Hamunaptra - though _called_ the City of the Dead - was primarily for Pharaohs’ treasure; the stuff that had no practical use in the afterlife but could not be fitted into the smaller tombs at the Valley of the Kings.  

It was not a place of burial for people, much less a criminal. This was a holy city - anyone could see that.

The mystery only spurs Waverly on and she persists doggedly, with Nicole and Wynonna working at her side. Wynonna pitches in on translations too, and Nicole - learning fast but mostly in the dark on Ancient Egyptian history - helps to map out the city. Still, she takes an interest in everything and listens to Waverly with a quiet and persistent fascination that does nothing to quell the undercurrent of _something_ running just below Waverly’s skin.

When she isn’t listening intently or walking around the city, Nicole joins Waverly in her meticulous note keeping. They make a good team with the sisters on translation duty and Nicole recording the physical logistics of the city.

Nicole only has the materials and the artistic ability to produce rudimentary diagrams so she sticks, mostly, to a list of instructions and a written description.

In fact, she is slightly self-deprecating about the work she produces each day, and it bothers Waverly immensely that Nicole does not recognise her place in the most exciting historical discovery for decades.

Besides, the work is hard; perhaps harder than either Waverly or Wynonna has ever known. They must all lug around supplies, actively participate in digging through cave-ins below the surface, and spend their mental energy on recording every little thing they see. They start from first light and they don’t stop until after sundown. 

Then, dog-tired but feeling satisfied, they spend their evenings sat round a fire. They talk, and they drink through Wynonna’s supply of booze. They also do their level best to ignore whichever of Bobo’s horrible criminals pass by with a catcall or more generalised word of abuse.

The only one who ever stops by for an exchange that is close to friendly is Rosita. Sometimes she asks to accompany the group to the oasis because, as scrappy as all four women are, none of them feel truly safe around the men - especially not while trying to get even slightly clean. At other times, Rosita slips an old trinket by their tent, dropping it in the sand without stopping. 

Waverly tries to thank her, but it is clear that Rosita is working to her own agenda.

“I want my bond with these guys cut once for all,” she says cryptically, clearly not happy to reveal whatever mishap got her tied to Bobo in the first place. “Then I want out. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter to me who gets what treasure out here, but you guys actually know what you’re doing. I’d be happier knowing it went to you.”  

It is clear though, from the way she refuses to stop saving pieces from the black market, that this is not entirely true. It is not just expensive gold or jewels she brings, she also steals the things that have little value outside of pure history - and for that Waverly (and, by extension, Nicole and Wynonna) is truly grateful.

And if the work they do is tiring and painstaking, it is nonetheless hard to deny that the evenings don’t have something of a summer camp feel to them sometimes. For as hard as they push themselves, they still find time to laugh around the fire, or first thing in the morning while they are all still half-asleep in the tent.

Although they often have to fight to stay awake, evenings are usually a time for sharing stories and learning more about each other under the protective cover of night.

It is almost fun, if you ignore the heat and the dirt and the lack of amenities.

All told, it would have been hard _not_ to bond as a unit, given the poor conditions, their close quarters, and the complete and total lack of privacy out here.

Wynonna and Waverly have been through enough together already, mostly involving loss and family drama, that their lives are already permanently wound tight together. Even the long periods of absence when Wynonna takes off in pursuit of ancient treasure, usually of the Ancient Greek variety, do not really do much to weaken their bond.

What’s more, after years of discord with their late sister Willa, Waverly had long harboured a belief that, as silly as it sounds, three maybe _was_ a crowd when it came to the Earp sisters. But then there is Nicole, who somehow manages to fit herself into the frame like a puzzle piece they hadn’t realised was missing.

It is clear that Nicole finds it hard at first, joining a pair of sisters so tightly bound together, but days in the desert feel like weeks and months, so walls come down fairly quickly for all of them.

Wynonna and Nicole develop a relationship that is progressively embedded in a good-natured competition of trading insults. Over time, they only become increasingly more rude as they establish each other’s boundaries. It is obvious, though, that there is a heavy current of unspoken mutual respect that runs somewhere beneath the surface of what is, effectively, constant playful banter.   

Wynonna, Waverly knows, enjoys the company of people who can take her jokes - but it is all the better if they can send them right back at her. For all that Wynonna still calls Nicole a narc, for all that Nicole’s “old school, girl scout, ‘prepared for anything’ persona” (as Wynonna describes it) _should_ go against everything Wynonna stands for, the two are on their way to becoming friends. They just won’t admit it to each other.

Things could not be more different where Waverly is concerned. It is not that Nicole does not joke around, because Lord knows she has teased her on every subject under the sun. No, the Nicole that comes to fore around Waverly is simply softer round the edges. It is like she lets her guard down wholeheartedly, leaving Waverly feeling similarly exposed and visible.

Nicole is like a grounding force when Waverly thinks too long on the book that has been lost to Bobo, and - alongside Wynonna - she supports Waverly in every endeavour, even those that Nicole does not especially understand.

With Waverly, Nicole is warm; she is freely giving of gentle smiles and kind looks, though most often when she thinks Waverly doesn’t see them. And always, she takes a genuine interest in every scrap of knowledge Waverly possesses - even when she is not perhaps particularly bothered about the minutiae of Ancient Egyptian politics.

In spite of the strange beginnings between them - and although relatively little time has passed - Waverly feels now that she knows Nicole well. Crucially, she has learned that it is actually quite hard not to like her. 

Nicole, Waverly realises, possesses a quiet surety of self that might unsettle some but draws Waverly like a moth to a flame. She isn’t arrogant, just assured; like there is too little time in the day to beat around the bush or deny who she is. It is a mostly uncomplicated nature that means Nicole gets along just fine out here in the wilderness, taking one step at a time.

And if that easygoing confidence sometimes has Waverly flustered in Nicole’s more openly flirtatious moments, well it doesn’t change the fact that they get along. 

In fact, they get along so well that Waverly almost forgets that they haven’t always known each other.

There isn’t a time ‘pre-Nicole’ now, it is impossible because there isn’t a time ‘pre-Hamunaptra’. The mission already feels as though it has consumed Waverly’s life.

Which makes it all the better that all three get along. Everything is a little less arduous that way.

The nature of cramming three people into a tent that would struggle with two occupants means that they are seldom alone. It isn’t safe to venture too deep underground without a chaperone, and they aren’t keen to risk hygiene trips without at least one lookout.

On top of becoming intimately acquainted with everyone’s showering and bathroom habits, they are also rarely protected from each other’s annoying quirks. When you live in someone else’s pocket day in, day out everyone’s flaws and annoying habits are on display.

Naturally, they do bicker for real from time to time because they are fed up, hot, and irritable. Then, they all make up again within the hour; they grow all the closer for it.

One evening, while Wynonna visits the oasis to replenish water stocks, Waverly and Nicole sit beside the tent with the remnants of their nightly whiskey rations between them.

They are sat on opposite sides of the fire and, through the flames, Waverly catches Nicole staring. 

Nicole is sat with her elbow in her lap, chin propped up in her hand, and she surveys Waverly with an open, unguarded look on her face.

Somewhere in the distance a series of bangs and cries indicate that, as ever, Bobo’s men are having a much more raucous night under the stars. Even so, Waverly finds that it is easy, in these moments, to tune everything else out like white noise.

“What?” Waverly asks softly, her head a little fuzzy - things tended to deteriorate quickly when she mixed her alcohol with exhaustion. Today, more than any other day, she could feel her tiredness under her skin.

“Nothing,” Nicole murmurs, her demeanour loose. She doesn’t seem embarrassed to have been caught out. “Just trying to figure things out, I guess.”

Finding it difficult to talk through the glare of the fire, Waverly shifts closer to Nicole. 

She knows instinctively that when Nicole says ‘things’, she is actually trying to figure Waverly herself out, but she doesn’t seem to say it in a way that gives Waverly cause for concern. With a silent gesture, she prompts Nicole to carry on speaking. 

“Just you Earps, I guess,” she explains, “and your...focus,” she says diplomatically. 

“Stubbornness,” Waverly amends for her. It is not the first time they have been told and it certainly won’t be the last.

Nicole smiles deeply, cheeks dimpling in the way that sort of steals Waverly’s breath.

“You said it, not me.”

“Yeah well, it’s kind of our thing,” Waverly concedes with a sheepish smile.

“I don’t mean it as a bad thing,” Nicole insists gently. “Besides, I can’t say I haven’t had my fair share of stubbornness in my time,” she admits. “But it’s different, somehow, with you two.”

Somewhere along the line Nicole drops her voice as she thinks, and the noise of their fire threatens to obscure her words entirely. Waverly has to lean closer so as not to miss anything.

“Tell me how,” Waverly asks, finding herself whispering back. An intense look settles on Nicole’s face.

“See, I get impatient,” she jokes quietly, although Waverly knows from experience that this is not remotely true.

“Nicole, you’re literally the most patient person I have ever met,” Waverly says dismissively.

“In some ways, maybe. But not when I’ve got my mind set on something I want. Then, I don’t want to wait around at all.”

Waverly watches, eyes wide, as Nicole’s gaze drifts down to her lips. Though the moment is still and calm, on the inside Waverly thinks that her heart might beat clean out of her body.

It is obvious what Nicole is thinking, even slightly tipsy as they both are. Waverly finds herself waiting, certain that Nicole is going to lean in and kiss her, certain that she _wants_ Nicole to do so.

Nicole takes her time, checking Waverly’s face for assent, but before she can move closer, a particularly loud bang sounds up from the other camp and they both visibly jump. A patter of gunfire follows the bang and, with that less than romantic soundtrack, the moment is gone.

Waverly finds herself as exhilarated as she had been when they found the city, or when the sarcophagus dropped to the ground. The feeling is that same kind of terrified excitement that has butterflies whirling round her stomach and her fingertips almost crackling with energy.

She is half-tempted to be bold, to claim the lost moment back but before she can work out whether she wants to lean in or run away, Nicole stands up with a sigh.

“We should probably turn in. I don’t know about you but I’m beat.”

She offers out her hand and her skin is warm as she pulls Waverly to her feet.

While they haven’t had much to drink, their tolerances are both still pretty low and they stumble slightly when Waverly rises. Nicole uses her free hand to keep Waverly steady and she unintentionally brings them closer together.

Waverly wonders, briefly, if this is a second chance but again, Nicole is too quick. She lets Waverly go in an instant and moves away to douse the fire, before unzipping the tent and holding it open for Waverly to pass through.

Wynonna returns as they are trying to change, leaving the water bottles in a haphazard pile to be dealt with in the morning.

Finding enough privacy even to change clothes has been a challenge but they manage as best they can. Nicole elects to wait outside while Wynonna and Waverly wriggle unceremoniously into more comfortable clothes. Waverly still has her sleep shorts and cotton bra, but Wynonna had lost everything on the boat. She wrestles awkwardly into a shirt she has arbitrarily deemed a pyjama shirt, pulls her bra out from one sleeve, and does not bother to replace her shorts.

At this point, no one else cares if she sleeps in her underwear. It is just that kind of set up now.

“Everything alright?” Wynonna asks as she settles down on her side, at the same end of the tent she has occupied since Kharga. It is strange how, even out here, people keep their habits.

 “Why wouldn’t it be?” Waverly points out as she lays down in the middle portion of the tent. The only plus side to the cramped sleeping arrangements is that Waverly, with her perpetually low body temperature, never has to worry about being too cold.

“I dunno, you guys seem off,” Wynonna says with a disinterested shrug. “But this whole place is off so what do I know?”

They allow Nicole the same privacy to change in peace by burying their faces into the bundles of clothes they use as pillows - albeit, the shittiest pillows either sister has ever endured.

When Nicole is ready she squeezes herself dutifully into the tiny space left for her. As ever, her body presses flush against Waverly’s - there is no escaping this kind of contact in here.

Waverly would be lying if she said she hadn’t been growing more aware of their closeness, but never has it been so acute.

She thinks again about how keenly ready she felt for Nicole to kiss her, and to put their growing tension to bed. Although _not_ \- in this case - literally.

Waverly has avoided adding to the pressures out here by thinking more on the wider implications of her feelings, but tonight seems to be the final nail in the coffin of her straightness.

_Straight Waverly_ , she thinks to herself. _September 1995- August 2017. She never stood a chance._

The thing is, Nicole has always been pretty straightforward about all of this. She has never made a particularly concerted effort to hide her interest in Waverly. And how very _Nicole_ it is for her to simply call a spade a spade. But she has never pushed hard, never made Waverly feel anything more than gently admired, and Nicole has never before made any attempt to act upon her feelings.

(Of course, Waverly can’t say for sure if there _are_ feelings for Nicole, and she does not want to presume. Sometimes attraction is just that, nothing more involved.)

Either way, Nicole has never demanded anything from Waverly; she has never asked probing questions about Waverly’s identity, has never tried to see if the interest runs both ways.

It is only very recently that Waverly has really allowed herself to acknowledge just how _mutual_ the feelings have become. Or perhaps they were always that strong but, regardless, the point is that Waverly is interested - very much so. Everything about Nicole interests her.

Of course Waverly had noticed Nicole’s looks from the word go - most people surely would have. Waverly would be lying if she said it hadn’t stirred a small something within her there and then, some inkling perhaps. But nonetheless, it is seeing Nicole’s heart and soul which has been the real game-changer.

Upon further reflection - and she has given it a great deal of consideration over the past few nights - she thinks perhaps there had always been some low-level attraction to women, but it had been only theoretical. There had never really been either the opportunity or the inclination for her to scratch beneath the surface.

There was no reason she had shelved the question necessarily, it had just never seemed strictly relevant. She couldn’t say, even now, whether she was worried about how people would react. On a broad level, she didn’t live in the most liberal of places but in her personal life there isn’t really anyone left to object.

Wynonna would be playfully launching abuse until the day she died - and then somehow from beyond the grave probably. She would always strictly vet a partner because it was part of her humour, but she probably wouldn’t care much beyond that.

In the end, Waverly supposes her own reticence on this issue was down to something in herself, some intangible, immovable Earp tendency for yet more stubbornness.

But now, when she thinks about dating a woman, of being romantic or physically intimate with one, it feels as right as anything else. More specifically, it feels right to think about doing those things with Nicole.

In fact, if Waverly allows herself to think about it, to _really_ think about it, there is a pull in her chest at the idea that is stronger than almost anything she has ever known.

When she isn’t thinking about her work here, she is thinking a lot about Nicole. Mostly, this is in the admirational sense; admiring Nicole and her epic survival skills, her ability to navigate in seemingly any conditions, admiring Nicole and that unwavering uprightness, supportiveness, kindness...

(Days have passed, and she is still admiring Nicole in those shorts and with that damn pickaxe.)

But still an ugly voice pops into her head to discredit her feelings. This is not only the first time she has felt this strongly about a woman; it is the first time she has felt this strongly about anyone at all.

The voice is telling her it’s _too fast_.

_It’s natural_ , that voice says, _to become attached to someone who is sharing an intense experience..._

Her head runs and runs, keeping her awake, and still her heart insists the feelings are real. It beats faster with every shift of Nicole’s body, pressing closer to Waverly’s.

Normally, the close comfort of Nicole and Wynonna nearby helps Waverly to unwind but tonight, with her mind coursing fast and her blood faster still, she lays awake long after her companions fall asleep.

Somewhat incongruously, Wynonna is usually quite peaceful in sleep, while Nicole often starts mumbling softly immediately.

Nicole has nightmares too, sometimes.

Putting aside Waverly’s tendencies for heavy sleeping, she is the one that sleeps closest to Nicole and the nightmares usually wake her first. It isn’t intentional, but pressed close together it is hard to miss the jerk of limbs or Nicole’s soft cries next to Waverly’s ear.

Waverly understands now why Nicole had resisted sleep for so long on the journey towards the desert.

The first few times the nightmares are noticeable, Waverly is torn over what to do. She doesn’t want Nicole to suffer through the dreams, but suspects she would be embarrassed to have Waverly intervene too much.

Over time, Waverly has learnt how to wake Nicole as softly as possible - a gentle shake of the shoulder, kind stroke of the hair - and then withdraw when Nicole surfaces properly.

Nicole has probably caught on by now, but at least she has the option to bring it up herself. Thus far, she hasn’t; even for non-Earps, some kinds of pride run deep.

Nicole, Waverly suspects, does not like to ask for help.

For now, however, she seems to be sleeping peacefully, burrowed close to Waverly’s side.

Waverly enjoys the contact, but wishes she could court some sleep of her own. The harder she tries, however, the further sleep slips away.

Frustrated, she sits up and tries not to disturb her bedmates in the process.

It is a rare morning in the desert where she awakes to find both Wynonna and Nicole still beside her. Usually, one or both of them have awoken with sun and, unable to sleep further, have taken a walk, citing it as better than staying cooped up in the tent. Waverly thinks that it is time to take a leaf out of their books. 

As quietly as she can, she creeps out into the night.

It must be the early hours by now, but Bobo’s men still seem to be going strong. She has long since become desensitised to her neighbours’ habits, but it still surprises her that they can find the energy to drink so late and still be up at the ass crack of dawn to pillage and plunder.

By the looks of things, they have tonight lit a fire away from their campsite and closer to the ruins. It is a strange decision to be sure, but Waverly does have to concede that it is probably quite atmospheric. Then again, the men may just be hellbent on desecrating something else - as if they haven’t already done enough damage with their lackadaisical methods. 

Whenever Waverly sees them they seem to be taking an axe or a sledgehammer to something. After all, why work out a route _around_ the underground walls when you can just knock them down and go through the gap, right?

As it always does when she thinks of Bobo’s men (Rosita is exempted), Waverly’s temper flares.

When they are not turning valuable pieces of history into rubble, they simply help themselves to anything remotely shiny. Waverly knows they will sell it on to the highest bidder (if they don’t melt it down to bullion) and that is unlikely to be a museum, much less the small, local institutions here. 

Waverly stands and stares in the direction of the men’s camp, lost in a fantasy of putting all of their stolen goods back below ground. It is a nice idea, but completely impossible...

Without warning, Waverly’s thought process grinds to a halt on this one simple thought.

Yes, it is impossible to liberate all of it, but there is _something_ she can do in Bobo’s absence.

She takes the camera and a notebook (this is officially stolen - Waverly has no intention of returning it) and creeps off towards the men’s camp, completely unseen under the cover of darkness.  

Or, at least, _mostly_ unseen.

 

 

 

 

 

What she discovers at the rival camp does not surprise her, but it does leave her horrified.

The place is in complete disarray, with ancient artefacts littered about in plain sight. Not for the first time, Waverly’s hands itch for decent protective materials. Even _she_ is breaking good protocol in that respect.  

Even where artefacts are still intact, other forms of damage have already been done. Objects have been moved, records have not been kept, and historical context has been lost forever.

While a quick glance at some things - golden boxes, bowls, sceptres and the like - suggests that they might not need as much contextualising, everything here would have benefitted from better record-keeping. 

Even seemingly unimportant factors such as where or how an object was preserved could be important to the wider story. As the men have kept no records, much of this context will be difficult to recover.

Still, Waverly photographs what she can and makes rapid notes in shorthand, intending to write them up properly later. She does not have sufficient time or paper to collate anything as professionally as she would like, but it is better than nothing.

She tracks from place to place, keeping an ear out for any men who might have stayed behind, and has to resist the urge to take all of the smaller, more portable artefacts she finds - from the remaining canopic jars to gold coins to jewellery and charms fixed with precious stones. 

_History goes to the people_ , Waverly thinks over and over as she explores, _and not to the highest bidder._

Besides, the men probably wouldn’t even notice if half the things here disappeared. If they did find something amiss, they would probably just assume it was an inside job.

Before the idea of liberating history can germinate, she enters another tent and thoughts of any other artefacts are banished by what she finds.

Even half obscured by a haphazard pile of dirty clothes which Waverly swiftly removes with the corner of her notebook, it takes her breath way.

There is a book in front of her, not the one she expected to find in the city. It is made not of gold but something darker, and even a quick glance confirms what Waverly already knew: this is not the _Book of Amun-Ra_. It is something else entirely, perhaps even the other side of the same coin.

They had all suspected Doc’s dishonesty, but this dark book is all the evidence Waverly needs - they could only have found it in the same chest as the canopic jars. 

Perhaps the most striking thing is that the book is locked with the same mechanism as the sarcophagus. The fact that they have been given the same protection immediately sends Waverly’s mind into overdrive. 

The book must predate the mummy, and yet whoever had buried him had sought out the same secret methods to keep him a secret. 

Waverly starts to wonder how many other things the key in their tent can open.

Whatever the answer, the ancient lock had done its job. There are scratches all over it - evidence of the lengths to which Bobo had gone to open it - but it would seem that the book has remained resolutely shut.

For as much as she has chastised Wynonna especially for continually sneaking tools out of the men’s camp, Waverly doesn’t think twice as she picks up the book. It is unbelievably heavy, and she wonders if perhaps it hadn’t been carved out of obsidian.

It would be an impractical material at best, but the area of the cover is large enough to accommodate it. In fact, on closer inspection, the book seems to be more like a short series of stone tablets collected together. It is a far cry from the ancient papyrus or animal skins that Waverly normally studies.

This ‘book’ has been built to stand the test of time - its makers would have wanted it to last. Like the rest of this city, its existence almost seems impossible.

Waverly tries not to think too long on this as she flies back to her own camp, book in hand, at a speed that nearly brings up a dust cloud. 

Once at the tent, she searches as carefully as possible through Wynonna’s possessions to find the key, popping it open before she even withdraws into the night.

Just as she has the key in the lock, a voice in the dark has her yelping in fright. 

“I believe that’s called stealing.” 

In her hurry, Waverly had completely failed to notice that the tent was missing two occupants. She had not even considered that Nicole was not where Waverly had left her. 

Instead, she is sprawled out on her back, completely obscured by the tent. She looks the picture of calm, with her legs loosely crossed at the ankle and her hands behind her head, leaving Waverly to assume that she has not been there long. Or at least, not long enough to worry and come searching for Waverly. In fact, she looks faintly amused.

“According to you and my sister, it’s called borrowing,” Waverly points out, turning back to the book.

In a smooth movement, Nicole sits up and manoeuvres towards Waverly, peering down at the book in the scant moonlight. The night is clear enough but the moon is waxing, and the desert is darker now. 

Sand hisses around them as Nicole moves, settling closer to Waverly as their shoulders press together.

“I read that your book was made out of gold,” she says, puzzled. “Pure gold, too, not just leaf? This doesn’t look even one percent gold.” 

Waverly makes a mental note to ask Nicole where she’d come by any of this information on the book, filing it away for a more appropriate time. 

“Keen eye,” Waverly jokes and Nicole shoves against her slightly. 

“Okay Dr Waverly, less sass more history please.” 

Waverly snorts to herself.

“Shockingly, but this isn’t the golden _Book of Amun-Ra_ . I’m fairly certain this is the _Book of the Damned_.”

Nicole blinks, quickly growing serious.

“The _Book of the_ Damned?” she echoes. “I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t supposed to play around with something like this.”

Waverly cannot help but feel faintly amused at Nicole’s reaction. 

“I’m not going to ‘play around’. I’m just going to read book - no harm ever came from _that_.” She pauses to consider this assessment as she turns the key, exerting rather a lot of effort to grapple with the stiff lock. “Well, very rarely has harm ever come from reading a book.”

“I don’t think that’s strictly tr- ” Nicole begins, but Waverly is too caught up in her own excitement to listen. 

“Besides, if it’s so dangerous who would you rather had it? Us? Or _Bobo_?” Waverly points out as the catch finally gives way with a sharp click.

Nicole pulls a face that suggests she thinks that Waverly has a point but doesn’t want to concede it. Either that, or she knows she won’t be able to change Waverly’s mind either way. 

They lift the heavy front cover together and, as the book falls open, a gust of wind whistles eerily around them. Their hair flutters and it almost feels as though the breeze had blown upwards, as though from the book itself. 

“Ever noticed how that happens a lot here?” Nicole observes rhetorically, muttering to herself as Waverly begins to read. 

Nicole watches in silence for a while, letting Waverly get a grip on the text. Eventually, however, she grows inquisitive. 

“What does it say?” she asks, and waits while Waverly finishes a passage.

“At the moment it’s a lot of symbolism” she explains, feeling a little breathless at being the first person to read this book in a long, long time. “It hasn’t really got the _easiest_ translation, it’s a lot of dichotomous stuff though: light, dark; good, evil - that kind of thing. I guess here,” she points at some symbols, “we’d call that heaven and hell now.”

Nicole nods, apparently satisfied at the seeming innocuity of the words.

“Where are you up to?” she murmurs, shifting to get a closer look. She peers over Waverly’s shoulder, their heads close together so she can follow when Waverly traces hieroglyphics with her finger.

She reads a line aloud in the ancient language, then puts it into English as best she can.

“Again, kind of a sketchy bit of translation here,” she makes a vague hand gesture to illustrate her point, “but this line speaks about the night and the day.”

Nicole nods, an indication that Waverly should go on.

Once more, Waverly reads the next two lines in Egyptian and makes to translate them. She barely opens her mouth, however, before she is interrupted by a strange sound that makes the blood freeze in her veins.

It sounds almost like a guttural, animalistic roar, so loud that it seems to shake the very foundations of the old city. 

From within the tent they just about hear Wynonna wake with a strangled cry of her own. 

“What in the actual hell was that?” she shouts before obviously realising she is alone. She fumbles with the opening of the tent before her head eventually appears. She heaves a sigh of relief once she sees Nicole and Waverly there, still sat down and frozen in shock.

“Shit I thought for  a moment you’d both left,” Wynonna tells them as she struggles outside. “Please tell me that you heard that and, while you’re at it, please also tell me that it was just those assholes across the way.”

Nicole grimaces. “Hard yes to hearing a cry from the bowels of hell, probable no to it being the men.” 

Finally extricating herself and sensibly bringing a flashlight with her, Wynonna catches sight of the book for the first time.

“To build on my earlier requests, please tell me that is not what it looks like,” she says to Waverly before quickly holding up her hand. “No, scratch that. Please tell me you haven’t been messing around with it.”

“Why is everyone calling it ‘messing around’?” Waverly cries defensively. “I only _read_ it.”

As an afterthought, she petulantly shunts the book away from her - as if that is going to help them now.

The echoes of the roar - or whatever it actually was - have died down, only to be replaced by an ominous rumbling somewhere in the distance. 

“I really, really don’t like the sound of that,” Nicole says, taking Wynonna’s flashlight and shining it around their little camp.

“Dad said - ” Wynonna begins. 

“Dad said a lot of things,” Waverly interrupts impatiently. “For example, he also said the _other_ book was the real one, the one buried here. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t start taking his word as gospel today.”  

Wynonna looks ready to argue, mostly out of a rising sense of panic, but a set of approaching footsteps has Nicole hushing them before any real debate can begin. 

Bobo and his men must have heard the commotion too, and Doc must have peeled off from the group because he appears in the beam of the flashlight. Rosita is a few steps behind, a horrified look on her face.

“I knew I saw a light here,” she says by way of greeting. “Did you guys - oh,” Rosita’s face falls even further when she sees them gathered around the book. If she was afraid before, her expression now is nothing short of pure terror. 

Doc, by comparison, looks thunderous. When he speaks, his question is a remarkable echo of Wynonna’s. 

“Please for the love of all that is good in this world, tell me that no one here has read aloud from this confounded book.” 

The silence that follows is answer enough. 

With an angry growl, he launches a frustrated kick at the book, although for a moment Waverly thinks it is aimed at her where she sits on the ground. Ultimately, however, he simply sends a cloud of dust and sand up around the book itself.

“Do you have any idea what you have done? What you’ve started?” he snarls, face wild and slightly frightening. “You’ve condemned us all!”

Standing up beside him, Wynonna folds her arms and scoffs, all bravado as usual.

“Dramatic much? I’m sure at worst she’s - ”

Much to her disappointment, Wynonna does not get the chance to deliver whatever flippant response she has prepared, because Rosita swears again and points behind Wynonna.

“What the hell is that?”

They all turn in time to see a strange, black cloud rise up on the horizon and drift high into the sky. It seems to blot out everything as, one by one, stars disappear behind its swirling, undulating mass. What little moonlight there is sputters out as they all stare in confused silence. Nothing about the shape makes sense, and they each struggle to work out what it is.

If her reaction is anything to go by, Nicole identifies it first.

She doesn’t share the information right away. Instead, she swears even more colorfully than Rosita before reaching out for the sisters. Her position on the floor means that, for a moment she holds Wynonna by the hem of her shirt and has a vice-like grip on Waverly’s wrist.   

In an authoritative tone that, at any other moment, might have had an entirely different impression on Waverly, she rises in a smooth motion and drags Waverly upwards with her. 

Both Waverly and Wynonna cry out, demanding an explanation, but Nicole is off and running before they know it. She hauls them both along with a single instruction -

“Guys, _run._  Now!” she barks the command, her training bubbling to the surface once more. Yet again Nicole positively brims with that careful discipline and cool-headedness.

Waverly allows herself to be manhandled, somehow grabbing the book and the key as she goes.

“What the hell are you doing?” Wynonna asks incredulously. “Leave them behind.” 

“Like hell I’m leaving them,” Waverly calls, the weight of the book already dragging her down. “We might need them.”

She still does not have the first clue what is pursuing them, but if it is enough to send Nicole running for the hills then Waverly is content to flee first and ask questions later.

With Doc and Rosita at their side they pelt for the shelter of the city and throw themselves down one of the few entry points to the rooms below. It is not their usual route, but it is the very definition of any port in a storm. 

Nicole shoves Wynonna slightly ahead of them, bundling her through the narrow doorway and releasing her shirt so she can bound the stairs.   

Once Wynonna is inside, Nicole pushes Waverly to the front of the line and down the stairs next. Almost predictably, Nicole keeps herself in front of the danger and worries about her own safety last. Her hand stays clamped around Waverly’s wrist, even as they hurry inside.

At the last minute, Waverly chances one final look over her shoulder only to see that the strange cloud is gaining on them. Its closer proximity reveals a sickening mass of dark bodies and thick wings flapping furiously. Waverly feels her stomach churn in disgust. It is not a cloud at all, but a squirming swarm of locusts.  

Trying to ignore her nausea she ducks inside, Nicole right behind her. Rosita and Doc bring up the rear a moment later. 

Waverly shudders, every inch of her skin crawling.

“Where the hell did they come from?” Wynonna cries as she wrestles a particularly industrious locust out of her hair and tosses it unceremoniously back outside.

Brushing dust off his jacket, Doc heaves a sigh. “I don’t know about you but I’m not going to wait around to ask them.” 

There is no door to keep the locusts out and with a series of sickening thuds a few of them make their way inside, bouncing off the walls and floor.

Grimacing in disgust, Waverly edges further into the room. 

Still Nicole holds onto her wrist, although she has slackened her grip considerably. They both seem to notice the prolonged contact at the same time because, just as Waverly appreciates how comforting it feels, Nicole makes as if to move her hand.

Somehow, Waverly catches her and threads their fingers together. She doesn’t have the presence of mind to care about the implications right now, just as long as Nicole doesn’t let go quite yet.

They share an odd look, half-nerves and half-heat, just visible in the darkness. 

Their only flashlight flickers ominously, its beam significantly weaker than it had been a few days ago. Naturally, no one has spare batteries with them at that moment.

The space feels only relatively familiar to them in the fading light; they are much more habituated to their usual route, right on the other side of the city. 

“Cool. So what the hell do we do now?” Wynonna asks. 

“Well, what we do not do is go further inside,” Doc answers immediately, a nervous quiver to his voice that he does not quite cover up in time.

“Why?” Wynonna asks suddenly, voice sharp.

“Just trust me on this.”

“Nope,” Wynonna says, popping the ‘p’. “You can’t expect us to just go along with you, not while you’re keeping us in the dark.” She pauses. “Figuratively speaking. So you can start by telling us what you know about that God-awful screaming from before.”

However, despite her repeated insistence, all Doc will do is assure them that they are all going to find out soon enough, his tone unreadable as it cuts through the growing shadows.

They wait around for a while, despondently watching the light grow dimmer and dimmer. However, there seems to be no hope of leaving out the same door through which they entered thanks to all the bugs.

After some back and forth, they agree to try and find another exit - preferably, one with a smaller number of angry locusts.

The walk in single file - most passages only wide enough to accommodate one person at a time - with Nicole leading the way. She gropes at the walls as the flashlight finally gives up the ghost, and she does her level best to lead everyone to safety via memory alone.

Waverly follows next, still unabashedly gripping at Nicole’s hand. She holds onto Wynonna from behind, making sure that no one gets cut adrift.   

Doc follows, with Rosita gripping the back of his jacket so as not to get lost at the back.

Very little of note happens for a while, except when Doc makes them all jump by removing the safety on his gun without warning.

Surprisingly, he is the most nervy of the group. This in itself makes Waverly fearful as she wonders what he knows that they do not. On more than one occasion, Doc slows them down by insisting Nicole switches direction. It is clear from her voice that she is exasperated, but Doc continues to refuse any route that takes them too close to the centre of the city. 

“The nearer we are to the exits, the better,” he repeats vaguely every time.

Eventually, Wynonna loses her patience and asks him if he is scared of the dark. He replies in a cold voice that terrifies them all.

“Girly I have never been allowed the luxury of losing my head in small, dark spaces but I have no shame in telling you that I fear what lurks within them here.”

No one has a decent reply, and they exchange very little conversation after that. 

After walking for what must have been fifteen or twenty minutes, they start to hear sounds nearby. At first, there is panic until Nicole and Rosita both make urgent, shushing noises.

A calmer, more collected take on the noise confirms that some of Doc’s campmates have also taken shelter inside. However, since they have no real perspective of their own location in the dark, they have precious little hope of finding anyone else. 

Nicole calls out, trying to warn the other men that they are close by.

She earns herself a less than friendly response from Doc who, effectively, tells her to shut her mouth.

“I am _not_ getting shot in here just because we might spring up on the likes of Red or Stupid Carl unannounced,” Nicole hisses over her shoulder at him.

“They do kind of seem like the ‘shoot first, ask questions second’ types,” Waverly agrees.

“You have a good point,” Rosita whispers reasonably from the back, “but in all seriousness we do have to keep quiet.” 

“Getting shot is going to be the least of all your worries if you don’t _shut up,”_ Doc hisses back.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Wynonna starts, point blank refusing to keep quiet and making Doc sigh as a result. “How about you tell us what you know, or just stop talking altogether?”

“Yeah I’ll second that motion,” Nicole grouses. 

“How about you _all_ be quiet before you get yourselves, and the rest of us, killed?” a new voice asks icily from the shadows and Waverly has to keep from crying out in shock.  

They all halt abruptly, crashing into each other as they try to pick out the voice’s owner. Instinctively, Nicole takes a protective step backwards, blocking the others as much as she can.  

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” the unknown voice adds in a familiar singsong fashion, leading Waverly to the conclusion that it is Bobo. They hear footsteps advancing on them and then just about pick out a couple of dark shapes in front of them.

“Yeah, you’re about a decade too late,” Nicole deadpans and, in spite of the situation, Wynonna snorts. Waverly even feels a smile drift over her face for a second. She squeezes Nicole’s hand.  

“I’m glad you’re all making jokes,” someone says and it is hard to be sure but it sounds like Levi. “But some of us want to get out of here pronto.”

There is a distinct air of unease amongst all of the men except Bobo himself, who is recognisable purely by his silhouette, given the distinctive cut of his hair and clothes.

“Let’s just get moving again,” another voice adds, and the statement earns a murmur of approval. 

Together as one strange new team, they continue advancing through passageways, bickering occasionally about which way they should be heading.

They take a left turn where Nicole is adamant they should have gone right, but there is a certain feeling of safety in numbers, and - although this is no democracy - she gets outvoted. 

Her lips find Waverly’s ear as the others debate back and forth.

“Well? Shall we listen to them?”

“No. I trust _you_ ,” Waverly whispers emphatically.  

“But do we strike out on our own, or play for safety in numbers?” 

Behind them come three firm and terrified voices.

_‘Safety in numbers_ ’.

Waverly can tell from the tension in Nicole’s body, from the grip of her hand, that she does not want to change her plans but, in the she prioritises her team and defers to the men.

Waverly thinks that the alternative route is suggested by a man she is commonly sees with Levi. She has spotted them numerous times, sat together a ways off from the rest of the men. She consoles herself with the thought that he seems like one of the smarter ones, but she doubts he is as smart as Nicole. 

Her suspicion is confirmed  quickly, when it becomes clear that they should have let Nicole lead.

They hear one of the men call out about a sharp left turn before promptly swearing.

“What?” someone calls urgently. 

“Lost the walls,” the leader says, making reference to the way they are running their hands against the walls to follow a path. The space must have widened outwards; a larger room where they only expected more narrow corridors.

“So where the hell are we then?” someone else asks impatiently - Waverly thinks it is Red - but without a flashlight it is impossible to say.

Gradually, they all pile into the room and Waverly lets go of Nicole’s hand to find the nearest painted and carved surface. She squints as hard as she can, trying to make out anything but, even with her eyes as accustomed as they can be to the dark, it is impossible.

With her nose practically pressed against the flaky paint, she instead traces the indentations of the carved hieroglyphics, drifting absently with the movement of the words. She follows one wall, turns left at a corner and then left again down a new, narrow corridor. She makes a mental note of the turns, then moves onwards, trying to find anything that can help.

Just as she piecing together a rough idea of where they might be she notices that she can no longer hear any voices and feels a thrill of fear. Too late she realises that she is further away from the group than she is strictly comfortable with.

Her first instinct is to head back the way she came, when something else makes her hesitate for a moment. The hairs on the back of her neck are all on end, which is something she might have once thought only a turn of phrase.

But there, in that corridor, she understands suddenly how it feels to have some strange sixth sense screaming at her. She is alerted, somehow, to the disconcerting knowledge that she is not alone.

She freezes, too afraid to do much more than try to keep her breathing even. Her first fear is one of Bobo’s missing men, specifically the tall and thin one with the frightening selection of knives.

Indeed she thinks, now that her senses are kicking into overdrive, that she can detect the faint sound of breathing nearby. There is something else too, something out of place that she can’t quite put her finger on.

She has lost count of the number of times her heart has started racing tonight, but it outdoes itself as she stands there in the dark, certain someone is watching her. She can feel the way fear disorientates a person, and when she forces herself to move she accidentally heads in the wrong direction. 

She crashes into something on the floor and nearly topples over it. 

“ _Shit_.”

She steadies herself at the last minute, right as a strange sort of whimpering starts up beneath her. It takes her a frantic few moments to realise that it is actually another person.

“H-hello? Is someone there?” she asks, trying to sound braver than she feels. She cannot fathom why someone might be crouched on the floor.

“I can’t see,” a voice returns, so laboured that Waverly can scarcely understand it. It seems partway familiar, but so distorted now that Waverly cannot discern its owner.

“Neither can I, it’s too dark,” she agrees gently. Even one of Bobo’s men, at least one that doesn’t seem hostile, is arguably better than being alone right now. “Did you fall? Have you injured yourself? I can help you up if y- ”

“M-my eyes,” comes the weak voice, still close to unintelligible. Waverly wonders if the man has fallen and given himself a concussion.

“No, it’s okay. It’s just dark,” she insists, wondering how she can reassure anyone else when she feels weak with fear herself. She does her best not to think about what happens if they can’t find their way back. They could wander round forever down here, or else they would have to stay put and hope that Nicole and the others could find them. 

Wynonna would never stop looking though and neither, she thinks, would Nicole. The thought gives her some hope.

“You don’t under-under- ” the voice struggles over the ‘s’, as it had earlier. “My eyes...even my tongue.”

Waverly thinks for a moment, before trying a different tack.

“Why don’t you start by telling me who you are? What’s your name?”

“C-C-Carl,” comes the reply with another struggle around the first letter. Feeling slightly uncharitable, Waverly’s heart sinks. Anyone but Stupid Carl…

“Carl, it’s Waverly. You know? The one you tried to kill?” she says pointedly because hey, she was still pretty bitter. She thinks for a moment, wondering how many people Carl has tried to kill. It was probably safer to be specific. “On the boat - with the knife. What’s happened to you?”

With a pained sob Carl grits out four words that send Waverly’s heart plunging to her stomach like a stone.

“ _He took my eyes_.”

As a rolling wave of realisation hits her like motion sickness, she wonders how she could possibly have been so stupid. She had thought the presence she sensed was Carl, had almost been relieved to hear him, but now she thinks about it her neck has kept on prickling.

That _thing_ she couldn’t place earlier, it isn’t a sound but a smell; familiar enough but quite outside of its usual context.

She hadn’t noticed right away because she had been around it every day for hours on end - sickly-sweet rotting flesh and the putrid rank of blackened cotton bandages…

The air around her smells like death. 

She realises with a jolt that someone - or something - is standing close by, breathing heavily and reeking to high heaven. 

Nicole’s voice comes to her then, not the real thing but only a memory. 

_So you might believe in curses but you’re absolutely certain that the infamous ‘City of the Dead’ can’t possibly be guarded by the curse of a really angry mummy._

“Oh God,” Waverly whispers, hardly daring to believe it. “Please God no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooohhh no, sorry i guess i forgot to mention the part where there's a sort-of cliffhanger. lmk what you thought and just maaaybe i'll let you know what's happened to waverly!!!!! (i'm kidding, i'll be back like clockwork with an update next week, no bribery necessary - but i always value hearing your thoughts.)
> 
> just want to give a huge thank you to everyone who reviews, and especially to those who take the time to write out super long comments. i love and appreciate every comment/kudos individually w no exceptions or conditions but i also know how much time it must take to write up a lengthy comment, and i always feel honoured that you feel my fic is worthy of that extra time. 
> 
> there wasn't a lot of history going on here, so no notes to add i don't think. let me know if i have forgotten anything, feel free to hmu on (preferably) twitter or tumblr even though i'm baaad at checking it. my current fave activity involves openly weeping over dominique in 'separated at birth' so come join me in that if you want (or otherwise witness my breakdown as i try to work out if i can manage to write a wayhaught childhood friends to gfs au because honestly, i just don't know how /that's/ going rn). other than that please please take care and see you next week.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a lot of "holy shit" and "oh hell no" and "run awaaaay" really. just a whole lot of panicking bc damn son, we done gone screwed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it me, or do mondays just seem to come around so quickly?? on the one hand, it's a drag for those of us who work a mon-fri week (myself included) but on the other i find myself getting very excited to update this fic while i force myself through work yet again. 
> 
> i hope this chapter is a satisfactory update after the cliffhanger of last week - although i'm guessing if you know the movie/my writing and my inherent inability to string angst out then it might not have been thaaat much of a cliffhanger.
> 
> IMPORTANT INFO: this may be one of the only chapters that truly lives up to the "horror" genre of the mummy movie. i still, honestly, don't think it's as bad as the show (that episode with the surgery still wins out in my honest opinion) but i just want to add in the warning that there are some descriptions here of injuries etc which are a bit gruesome. i'll add more on how i've chosen to follow the plot of the movie below, but consider yourselves warned for a teensy bit of gore. 
> 
> i sort of want to apologise that this is one of those chapters that's all about moving the plot along - but i figure it's about time we kicked these ladies into action again. idk about you guys, but it certainly feels like a good metaphorical kick is what two of them need in particular [insert eyes emoji]. so i can promise that we'll get more Feels next chapter, but for now we need to put some distance between them and this mummy. so without further ado, let's go ahead and do that...

Yet again, Waverly finds herself rooted to the spot in fear.

She wants to scream - Christ, she wants  _ run _ \- but no individual part of her body seems to be working properly.

She still can’t see, not really, but she does not need to see to know, on instinct, that the mummy is there. Almost invisible but certainly within touching distance stands a huge, hulking figure at least a head or two taller than Waverly.

Now that she is aware of it, the smell of the mummy is overwhelming. It almost seems worse now that he is upright and, apparently, walking around the city. Waverly suspects this is mostly her fear augmenting her senses but, whatever the cause, the stench makes her feel faint.

It is all the confirmation she really needs to convince her that the glistening, decomposing corpse of a nameless, condemned man is somehow standing there, presumably watching her in near-silence.

The only noise from him seems to be his breathing which, it turns out, sounds exactly as she would have expected from a corpse that is missing its lungs: heavy, laboured, and ragged. There is a strange, wetness to the sound which turns Waverly’s stomach.

He is breathing out of habit, she realises as her head swims with nausea.

She thinks that there is a very real chance she might be sick and her own breathing grows haggard in response.

Thoughts and theories flash through her mind but do not linger long enough to be of use; adrenaline causes her head to rush and she struggles to grasp at any cogent thought. She vaguely recalls something written in an old Earp ancestor’s diary, something about the Book of the Damned having the power to raise cursed beings from the grave.

It had been only a sole reference, however, and Waverly had certainly not given it much more than a passing glance recently. 

If she is remembering correctly - although she cannot be sure right now that she is - their relatives had half-dismissed the book itself as pure myth and, coming from Earps, this said a lot. A family who had, generally, believed in golden books and mythical cities rarely wrote much off as a fairytale. But they  _ had  _ taught that the black book was only a handy ‘evil twin’ counterpart to the gold book - useful only for a good story.

_ Well _ , Waverly thinks bitterly,  _ if only they could see me now _ .

She stares in horror at the spot she thinks the mummy occupies, trying fruitlessly to stand strong in the half-decomposed face of a man who had obviously been condemned in death and who she had brought back to life again.

Just when she thinks things cannot possibly get more frightening, a voice cuts through the darkness - not Carl’s now, but a rough, low voice that makes Waverly think of wheels on gravel, of nails on slate.

The man - she wonders briefly if they can call him that, if there is any humanity left in an animated corpse - speaks to Waverly as though he expects her to understand, and she realises that he probably has no idea how much time has passed.

The problem, however, with speaking a dead, ancient language is that scholars don’t actually have much of a framework on how it used to sound. When the figure in front of her speaks, he does so with a fast pace and an easy accent; Waverly has never heard it spoken in this way before, not by a native speaker.

With the exception of what might be a name -  _ Anck-su-namun _ \- she does not catch what the mummy says, and it is this which makes the panic truly set in.

She takes a step but forgets about Carl lying prone on the ground, she catches her foot on some unspecified limb and stumbles heavily onto her knees, dropping the book and key on impact. She had almost forgotten the collective weight of them, but as soon as she lets go her arm begins to ache.

Both Waverly and Carl give a cry, but the combined pain in her arm and dull sting in her knees is the jolt Waverly needs to shock her back into action.

The fog in her head clears, if only slightly.

She shifts and prepares to get back up, ready for fight or flight, and her hand knocks against something with a light, plasticky tap.

On a hunch, she scrabbles around for it and her heart soars when she hits home - Carl (perhaps not  _ quite _ as stupid after all) had brought a flashlight with him.

Hands still shaking, she clicks it on and for a moment is blinded by the flood of light that spills forth.

As soon as her eyes adjust, however, the good feeling disappears again at the sight that meets her.

She isn’t really sure what she expects to see, or how she expects to react to it, but it is about as horrifying as any rational thinker might assume.

She had of course, seen the mummy before and had hoped it might have helped, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight of him now.

He towers above them, skin and bones and wrappings all darkened with death as before - only, now that he is upright and more obviously human, it is all so much worse. 

Implausibly, he struggles with the sudden onslaught of bright light. Unlike Waverly, however, he cannot blink nonexistent eyelids closed and is forced instead to shield his face with the back of an impossible, skeletal arm. Mostly bone, it is adorned with old bandages and remnants of rotten flesh that drip putrid fluid to the ground.

It takes Waverly a moment to understand this, because the mummy she had examined didn’t  _ have _ eyes - they had decomposed almost entirely.

The she looks to Carl, and comprehension sinks into her skin with a fresh, heated wave of pure nausea. She feels it settle in the pit of her stomach, where it emanates hotly outwards and leaves her feeling weak and trembly.

The mummy was not shielding his own eyes at all. 

She understands, now, what Carl had meant earlier, when he had tried to tell her that his eyes and tongue had been taken.

He had been speaking literally, as evidenced by the bloody, pulpy mess that had once been his face. Waverly does not allow herself to look for too long lest she really does throw up, but the dark streaks of blood around his eyes and mouth were a sight that she knew immediately would never leave her.

Another fearful glance at the mummy reveals bright, alert eyes and a pink tongue, the only living flesh on his body.

The inquisitive part of Waverly wonders briefly on the biological feasibility of such things, but she can only suppose that ‘biological feasibility’ is something of a trifling matter when you are a cursed member of the walking undead.

Shakily, she gets to her feet - not quite trusting her legs to hold her up - and she collects the book and key as she does so. The last thing she wants to do is hand those over to an ancient mummy who probably still needs them to be of a less, well, gooey and boney consistency .

She has a grand total of zero ideas regarding how exactly she is going to get herself out of this mess, but she does not intend to give in without a fight.

Things are made more difficult as she tries to assess how she can bring Carl (it is no longer entirely comfortable to think of him as Stupid Carl) along with her.

It is not that she  _ wants _ to team up with him per se, but she can’t very well leave him behind.

He might be a devious, murdering criminal but he also does not deserve to die like this.

She starts with the obvious - hauling Carl into a standing position as best she can. Even this is a struggle, given that her hands are full and she feels fit to drop to the ground again. He leans a lot of his weight onto Waverly which, while understandable, only adds to her list of problems.

She barely wants to be responsible for herself right now, let alone anyone else. In a fantasy world, this is where someone more competent finds them and offers her a helping hand. But this is not a fantasy no matter how much it feels that way, and Waverly has no choice but to do this herself.

She breathes in, still aware of the unnerving gaze of the mummy as he watches her through another man’s eyes.

Step one is getting ready to run. Step two is working out which way to go.

This, at least, is easier now that she has a flashlight. She has been mapping the paintings on these walls for days, and right above the mummy’s skeletal shoulder is a beautiful painting of the cat goddess  _ Bastet _ . Waverly had given it particular attention and admiration barely a day or two ago, although it feels now to have happened in some distant time many years before.

She thanks her lucky stars (amazed that she has any left to call upon) for her interest in these paintings. She knows where they are and she thinks she can get them out. The problem is her severe disadvantage against the figure in front of her, still idly watching her as though he cannot believe she would dare run for her life.

This, she thinks, only makes him more ominous.

Internally, she considers the mummy as an adversary. It would be an interesting debate, were it theoretical and not life-threateningly real.

Would he, in competition with the living, be inhumanly strong and fast? (Possible evidence: he is a cursed, walking dead guy to whom the laws of science clearly do not apply.) 

Or would he, in fact, be a particularly weak opponent in the physical sense? (Possible evidence: half of his muscles have decomposed and he is literally a beetle-infested skeleton.)

It is only as she weighs up the possibilities and how they affect her chances that Waverly hears the first distant cries.

Someone, or rather multiple people, are calling her name and seem to be getting closer.

The source of the sound alternates between Wynonna and Nicole, and they distract the mummy just long enough for Waverly to make a single, impulsive decision.

Her body powered entirely by adrenaline and a small amount of vindictive spite (who the hell does this guy think he is, stealing body parts and terrifying all the regular alive people?) she makes a break for it. With a single, hissed instruction at Carl to run for his life, she spins them both round in one fluid motion.

Without his sight Carl needs Waverly as a guide, but she cannot hold onto him, the flashlight, and the book at once. In the end, she takes her chances and presses the latter into Carl’s trembling hands.

“I’m not going to leave you behind, but I need you to hold onto this,” she tells him, not waiting for a response before haring off and towing Carl with her.

She drags him along, feeling guilty that she cannot offer him greater sensitivity right now - but this is simply a case of survival first and everything else later.

The only real, solid thought in Waverly’s mind is that she does not want to lead Wynonna and Nicole closer to any danger, but her options are painfully limited. There is no sense in escaping and having to come back later - better to warn them of their adversary immediately and tackle the rest together.

She tries to follow the voices but  _ Hamunaptra _ remains as disorientating as ever and Waverly wonders how her ancient counterparts managed. She doesn’t have long to think, however, before she ends up rounding a corner and ploughing directly into Nicole, nearly knocking her over in the process.

Nicole’s startled cry has the men taking safety locks off their guns, and Waverly has to point the beam of the flashlight on herself.

“It’s me! It’s Waverly - don’t shoot me!”

As soon as she feels safe (relatively speaking), she angles the light down to the ground again. Partly she wants to avoid dazzling the others, partly she is aware that breaking the news about Carl requires a little bit of tact.

An uncharacteristically tearful Wynonna wastes no time in launching herself at Waverly, crushing her in a tight hug. After a moment, she draws away and then punches Waverly on the arm, hard.

Waverly yelps indignantly. “What the hell was that?”

“You scared the everloving shit out of us - where did you go?” Wynonna sounds furious with fear. A few tears still glitter in her dark eyes, reflected in the small chink of light. “Waves, I really thought we’d lost you in here. Even Nicole did.”

Wynonna’s lack of dark humour, as well as her immediate use of Nicole’s given name, is enough to betray the depth of her concern. Waverly feels a barb of guilt jab into her, but there isn’t time for that now.

“I did not,” Nicole butts in quickly, but she is betrayed by the pinched expression on her face. She looks paler than normal, too.

“Well Miss ‘Ever the Pragmatist’ didn’t say so,  _ obviously _ .” Wynonna flashes Nicole a pointed look. “But none of that matters now - you’re okay. And you found a flashlight; looks like no one is dying in here!”

Wynonna looks substantially brighter, but Nicole is watching Waverly with that same, troubled look.

“Waverly?”

“I wouldn’t bank on that,” Waverly tells Wynonna, aware that Carl is still lingering just behind her in the shadows. Waverly doesn’t know how to do this, she doesn’t know how to prepare anyone else for the sight of Carl or for the truth about what has happened to him.

Levi, however, is already suspicious.

“That flashlight - it’s Carl’s isn’t it? Glass has been cracked just like that since yesterday.”

Levi’s friend nods his agreement right as Carl gives a pained sort of gurgle at the mention of his name.

Everyone looks startled at the sound, countless sets of eyes honing onto Waverly for an explanation.

“I just found him li - something, something bad has happened,” Waverly tries, wishing absurdly that she could be braver and more articulate for the sake of a man who once tried to kill her. But she is aware that any explanation would be useless right now, and there is no time to do this properly. She warns everyone else to prepare and turns the flashlight on poor, stupid Carl.

The reaction is instantaneous.

Some members of the little crowd curse, some recoil in horror, but most do both at once. It is unfair to Carl, but Waverly can’t say she blames them - it has not become an easier sight the second time around.

“What the hell did you do to him?” the one called Red asks with a deep snarl, as though Waverly could possibly be responsible for this. She would be indignant if she wasn’t aware of the shock of seeing Carl’s face.

Red runs to his friend’s side and, although she is embarrassed to admit it, Waverly is glad to be divested of her duty of care.  

Wynonna, on the other hand, takes particular offense at Red’s words and she whirls around to face the remaining men.

“If any one of you idiots thinks that my sister would ever…” she splutters to an indignant, angry halt as words seem to fail her.

“We all know she didn’t do it,” Doc offers bluntly, clearly exasperated at Red in spite of the dire situation.

With an immense struggle, Carl manages to speak two words that, at first, only exacerbate the situation.

“S-she...helped…”

Everyone present jumps at the sound of his voice. In their shock, the men seem to have forgotten that he has lost his sight and not his hearing.

It takes them all a moment to understand his words, barely distinguishable as they are, but everyone seems to catch on at once and the effect is incendiary.

“She  _ helped _ ?” Red cries, incredulous and still, apparently, ready to jump at the nearest source of blame.

“I know it’s a big ask, but don’t be an idiot,” Doc counters with a sigh.

“No,” Carl tries again, voice urgent even if his words cannot be. “Helped...m-m- ”

“She helped _ Carl _ , not the attacker,” Doc offers and Carl gives an enthusiastic nod that must have caused him a great deal of pain. His whole face has started to swell now, and it is hard to tell whether this looks worse or better to an outside observer.

“There isn’t time to explain any more than that right now,” Waverly interjects as urgently as possible. “We have to get him - and ourselves - out of here right now. The mummy from downstairs...listen I know how this sounds, but the mummy is…”

Waverly stops because already, it is too late. She can hear that dreaded sound again. Like a recurring nightmare, that awful, terrible breathing is behind her, somewhere very close by in the darkness.

This time, it is accompanied by the sound of laboured steps, of someone dragging their feet - or what is left of their feet - across the sandy, hard stone floor.

“You were right,” Waverly tells Nicole in a whisper. “You were right and I’m so, so sorry. I should have listened.”

Waverly looks into Nicole’s face, unsure how she will react. Whatever Waverly expects, it is not for Nicole’s expression to soften.

“Don’t apologise - I won’t be saying that I told you so any time soon.”

Then, the grim expression is back as Nicole focusses her attention in the direction of the breathing. She grips her gun a little tighter and inhales sharply, ready for the mummy to step into the light.  

Not everyone, however, understands what Waverly had been trying to say.

“Can one of you please explain what’s going on?” Wynonna asks impatiently, aware of the now-palpable fear in the air. Before anyone can answer, however, the mummy appears and Wynonna’s eyes widen in a way that would be comical at any other time. 

“Holy  _ shit _ .”

As soon as he appreciates their numbers and is able to decide that the guns bristling in front of him are a bad thing, the mummy snarls and goes to lash out with a strike of his arm.

Unthinking, Waverly looks immediately to Nicole for guidance as though this is now a natural instinct. But even in spite of Nicole’s intimations that her training involved some less than human elements, Waverly is doubtful she ever took a class on undead mummies.

Still, Nicole is one of the few people not to openly panic. Calmly, almost impassively even, she fixes her eyes on the mummy. Her mask of neutrality makes it seem like this is a mere trifling occurrence for her.  

Unsurprisingly, everyone else very much  _ does _ panic. Men start firing shots almost immediately, which only angers the mummy. He goes on the attack, rounding on poor Levi who happens to be nearby. Somehow, he receives an impressive gash to his cheek before the mummy turns on Bobo next.

Waverly watches, incredulous, as Bobo seems to be the only other person to keep his head. She does not have time to wonder at this before Nicole’s voice is in her ear.

“Do you know the route outside from the paintings?” she asks, already aware that Waverly can use the walls like Nicole herself can read a map. “Can you get us back outside?”

“Yes,” Waverly whispers back immediately, and Nicole sends her a brief look to assess the truth in the statement. Nicole’s face is set, and it is clear she doesn’t disbelieve Waverly even for a second.

Waverly feels her legs shake at this, praying that she is worthy of such faith.

“Okay,” Nicole says with a nod. “On my order, just go okay? Run and take everyone with you.”

“No, I’m not leaving unless you are too.”

“I will be, but someone who is a half decent shot needs to cover everyone. I’ll be right behind.” Nicole tracks Waverly’s face, registers the doubt and fear there. “Promise.”

All Waverly can do is nod and keep her faith in Nicole, who turns away and prepares to take her first shot at the mummy. Before she can fire, however, a shout from Bobo steals everyone’s attention and seems to still the room for a moment.

He calls for the creature to stop, bowing his head as she speaks.

It takes her a moment, but Waverly realises with a jolt that he is speaking one of the ancient languages. She hadn’t realised that Bobo knew the first thing about Egyptian history, let alone that he could speak a dead language almost as well as Waverly herself.

In fact, he speaks in the same way Waverly does, albeit a little more halting and unsure. Even so, she finds it much easier to understand his slow progress than the mummy’s fluid native speech.

“I am your servant,” Bobo says in a roundabout way that Waverly would not have chosen for herself, but that seems immaterial at the moment as she watches Bobo try to save his own skin.

“I am here to work with you, and so are some of my men,” he goes on, before pointing an accusing finger at Waverly. “But they are here to send you to hell,” he concludes, using a feminine pronoun in the old language to ensure he condemns only only Waverly, Wynonna, and Nicole (although Rosita has also found herself included by proxy).

Waverly watches as the mummy works through Bobo’s broken speech but this momentary lapse ends all too quickly, and the creature grows twice as angry as before.

Oddly, he dives first at Wynonna, his vile fingers outstretched before him. He only makes it a few short steps before Nicole starts sending shot after shot straight through him.

No one is naive enough to believe that the bullets are going to kill him, but they must hurt at least slightly because he yelps like a wounded animal and falters for the first time.

“What the hell did Bobo say?” Nicole asks, voiced raised over the sound of gunfire.

“Let me guess,” Doc shouts from her other side, joining Nicole in the onslaught against the monster. He is a good shot too, and finally some bullets hit their target. “He just pledged his allegiance to this hellion, and sold most of us out while doing it?”

“You  _ knew _ ?” Waverly shouts, half tempted to send a punch at Doc there and then.

“I had an idea, I did  _ not  _ know,” he corrects indignantly as though, faced with a demon who treats a hail of gunfire as though it is merely a painful inconvenience, Doc’s reputation is his biggest problem right now.

The force of one particularly well-placed shot from Nicole sends the mummy stumbling backwards and they seize their opportunity.

“All of you stop arguing and just run, now!” Wynonna orders, and Waverly immediately pelts down the corridor, Wynonna and Rosita in hot pursuit while Red, Levi and the other, unknown man all haul Carl between them. Doc and Nicole bring up the rear, still covering the rest of the group.

Waverly supposes that some of the other men follow too, but she cannot bring herself to be concerned about anyone else right now, not when she has to lead everyone outside.

Using the flashlight to check the paintings, Waverly barely thinks further than the next bend or the next room, letting her feet carry her all the way until, with a sob of relief, she sees a chink of moonlight up ahead. She bursts out of the open doorway, too relieved to think about the possibility of any remaining locusts, and a flurry of footsteps follow her closely.

The insects are gone, but so is the sign of any other life. If any more of Bobo’s men remain (for they were certainly not all underground and assembled with Bobo himself), they are nowhere to be seen. Waverly can hardly say that she blames them. Breathless, she doubles over to clutch at a stitch in her side, while Wynonna crouches beside her.

“Please someone,” Wynonna grits out between gasps, “ _ anyone _ , tell me that I am really, really drunk right now.”

“Christ I wish,” Doc says, taking the opportunity to reload his pistol at an almost alarming speed. As he does so, Nicole appears at Waverly’s side, her cheeks tinged slightly pink with exertion.

Wearing a concerned expression, Nicole reaches out a gentle hand to Waverly’s face, and for a moment Waverly cannot process what is happening. Her mind races until Nicole brushes her thumb along the curve of Waverly’s lip and a throbbing flares up like a drumbeat at the contact.

Waverly notices for the first time that she can taste blood, sharp and metallic in her mouth, and realises she must have cut her lip at some point during the night.

Without consciously considering it, Waverly discards the now dimming flashlight and reaches her own hand up to slide over Nicole’s, maintaining some much needed contact for a moment longer. She intends for it to ground her slightly, bring her back to reality, but even in the midst of mortal peril it still feels like an electric current passes between the two of them.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not waiting for that thing to catch me,” Levi says urgently, already dragging a stumbling, directionless Carl through the sand.

“He’s right, we can’t stop now,” Doc affirms, but does not wait around to see that they are coming along. Red and the unknown man both follow, leaving only Rosita behind. She sends them a desperate, imploring look.

“If you’re smart - which I know you all are - you’ll come with us,” she says before she too hurries away.

“I can’t really say I trust many of them,” Waverly begins cautiously, finally letting go of Nicole. She, however, only moves her hand a short distance away, resting it lightly on Waverly’s shoulder instead.

Wynonna looks doubtful too. “Me neither. What do you say, Haught? You got us here, think you can get us out on our own?”

“Absolutely,” Nicole replies without missing a beat, “but you both said it earlier - there’s safety in numbers. Think what we might about Henry, I haven’t seen better shooting since I lost my garrison. I’d rather have him on my side than halfway across the  _ sahara _ .”

“Okay,” Waverly says immediately, once again surprised at how quick she has become to trust Nicole’s judgement.

Wynonna takes a moment longer but, upon hearing a scream from somewhere below them, seems to make up her mind pretty swiftly. She just nods, but it is all the affirmation Nicole needs to speed off in the direction of their camp.

“Come on, we need guns, water, and a way to transport that book back with us,” she points out. “Let’s hope there’s some kind of counter spell in there, right?”

Waverly and Wynonna help her pack up their camp as best they can, but Nicole pretty much falls back on methodical army training to pack up by herself with ruthless efficiency. She discards anything they don’t need and ordinarily Waverly would take issue with ruining the natural landscape. At the moment though, they have bigger things to worry about.

Within mere minutes they are ready, leaving without a backwards glance at the cursed city. Greater in numbers but all the worse off for their escapades, they set off, back towards the unforgiving desert.

_ Maybe _ , Waverly thinks as an earth-shattering roar vibrates every stone structure around them,  _ the Earp name really is cursed after all. _

 

 

 

 

 

In the days that follow, the desert is as harsh as they remember it - if not harsher still.

However, if Waverly thought that racing Bobo’s men to Hamunaptra had been a good motivational force, then having a demonic mummy chase you back out of the lost city is an even better one.

They barely register the hardships of the open desert this time. They are only keen to get to safety - whatever that looks like now.  

Sleep becomes a luxury that they take only when it is absolutely necessary - and usually it is Nicole who implores them not to succumb to any kind of exhaustion.

“We’re better off rested than delirious through heat exposure and lack of sleep,” she tells them sternly the first time that the discussion arises and Levi’s friend, who they learn is called Ambrose but inexplicably seem to answer to Fish, wants them to keep going.

Ambrose puts up a good fight, but is no match for Nicole.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” she says, “but if that thing catches up with us I don’t want him finding me half-dead from sunstroke. I’m not doing the mummy’s job for him.”

Waverly suspects that it wouldn’t take much for Levi and Ambrose to go off on their own (honestly, she’s starting to question whether they are best defined as ‘friends’), but the men have started to come around to Nicole’s point that, in the desert at least, there is a certain safety in sticking together.

“That thing won’t be resting,” Levi points out emphatically, his rising panic seemingly overtaking every other impulse, which is something Waverly can pretty much understand. Wracked with a growing sense of guilt, she cannot be entirely sure how she is keeping it together herself.

“He might not be entirely human anymore, but the people he needs on his side right now  _ are _ ,” Nicole tells them firmly. “Granted, he probably won’t care much about their wellbeing and will simply push them to their limits, but he  _ does _ need them alive and upright.” At this, Nicole sends a nervous glance at Carl.

“He’s completely supernatural, not of this plain,” Levi counters. “What does he need people for?”

“He’s woken up three thousand years after they sent him down,” Wynonna points out. “Trust me he’s gonna need some men on the ground right now.”

Nicole nods firmly. “And all we have to do for now, is make sure our limits are greater than theirs.”

Looking at their disheveled little group, Waverly doesn’t fancy their chances and, judging by her expression, neither does Nicole.

 

 

 

 

 

After a decent headstart and a small amount of rest, their first priority must be keeping Carl’s wounds clean and properly dressed.

Nicole happily gives over some of their resources to the task and, hesitantly, offers herself up to play nurse.

“I’ll help,” Rosita says shortly, before adding, “I took a first aid course for lab burns and that stuff once. I know this is, like, a thousand times removed from a bit of acid but I’ll do my best.”

Nicole smiles, grim but genuinely grateful not to have to do this alone.

“Thank you.”

They ask for a bit of space while they work, and everyone else huddles together, glad of the excuse to turn their backs on the grisly sight.

Waverly, however, feels this strange sense of responsibility, almost as though she owes it to Carl not to look away. She watches for a while as Nicole and Rosita do their gentle best with Carl, until eventually she is caught looking.

“We need privacy,” Nicole repeats ever so softly, “that means everyone.”

Her request isn’t just about Carl, it is about Waverly too, and Nicole is as transparent as ever about it. Waverly doesn’t acknowledge this fact though, she is simply more grateful than she can say to have someone else’s permission to cede responsibility for a time.

She looks away from Carl, watching instead as Nicole moves to her bag in search of fresh supplies. She emerges with their strongest non-drowsy painkillers and, for all that she must have seen in her short life, her hands still shake.

In fact, she can barely get the pills out of their blister packet, and Waverly steps across to help, covering Nicole’s hands with her own and taking the tablets out for her.

Dosed up to the nines, Carl is slightly more able to support himself and their collective speed increases substantially, although he naturally still needs someone at his elbow constantly to guide him. Either because of the pain or the trauma, or most likely because of both, Carl does not try to communicate again. 

The rest of the men, however, are given no such exemption. They have a lot of explaining to do and, at the very first request to talk, they oblige.

“I did warn you to be careful with that mummy,” Doc points out as they walk.

“ _ Really _ ?” Wynonna asks, incredulous. “You’re really giving us an actual ‘I told you so’ right now?”

“Yeah, most of us are refraining from that one,” Nicole adds, looking unimpressed.

“Not an ‘I told you so’, just trying to say that I did my best to tell you he was dangerous.”

“Your  _ best _ ?” Waverly asks, angry. “That was your best? In what way does ‘be careful around the dead guy’ imply that he’ll come back to life, herald a plague of locusts, and try to kill us all?”

“You literally could have just said that,” Wynonna points out.

“If it helps, I did tell him that,” Rosita adds, “but he barely even told  _ me _ the finer points.”

“It doesn’t help,” Wynonna shoots back bluntly and Rosita shrugs.

“Helps me.”

Doc holds his hands up in acquiescence. “Would any of you have believed me? No one is going to take that kind of claim seriously.”

“I would have,” Nicole says quietly, and Waverly redirects her gaze to her feet. Amongst all the other guilt she feels, a key element is that she never placed more stock in Nicole’s story.

Doc looks at her, a question written on his face, but there is no way they will let them get off that easily.

“Whatever,” Wynonna says, still unimpressed. “Haught had a good instinct from a creepy  _ experience  _ which she mentioned to me  _ and  _ my sister, but you guys knew all along what Bobo was up to.”

“More like an educated guess,” Ambrose amends. “We weren’t exactly in the inner sanctum. He just needed us to find the city and the book. He only ever told the worst of them anything more; Jack, August, Father Malick - ”

“ _ Father _ Malick?” Wynonna interjects.

“Yeah, he took a career change I guess,” Ambrose fills in hastily. “Look, the point is, we inferred a lot from Bobo’s instructions, but we never had the key and we never in a million years thought he’d find the mummy himself.”

“You don’t exactly get to say ‘no’ to someone like Bobo Del Rey,” Levi adds. “But we only went as far as we did because we thought we’d only recover a third of the stuff Bobo actually needed. You think we  _ wanted _ to curse ourselves?”

“Look, I know we probably have a fetid, walking mummy after us but it’s not exactly a literal curse,” Wynonna points out dismissively.

“Not for you guys, maybe, but it is for us,” Red retorts sourly.

“We opened the chest with the book and the jars,” Ambrose explains. “You might have woken the creature but  _ we  _ set the curse back in motion. The story goes that whoever disturbs the chest will give his own lifeblood to the mummy. He uses us to regenerate back to his old form.”

“Here,” Levi stops walking long enough to fish a camera identical Waverly’s ‘borrowed’ one from his satchel. “You can probably tell us more from these photos.”

Struggling to walk and scroll through the camera at the same time, Waverly checks the photos of the chest, zooming in as best she can on the inscriptions. She reads them and bites her lip, not especially keen to read them aloud to her current audience.

“Just tell us,” Ambrose insists sadly when he sees Waverly’s face. “We already know we’re doomed.”

“Are you sure? Because, well, it's not good.”

“This whole situation’s ‘not good’. It's okay, just read it,” Levi answers, sounding braver than he looks.

“Well the top bit is a warning, if you want it word for word it just reads: death on faster wings to a chest-opener. Probably better worded as ‘death will come on swift wings to whoever opens this chest’.

“And, on the side it gets a bit more, um,  _ detailed _ . I’ll spare you the literal translation and just paraphrase so bear with me: ‘there is one, the undead who...if brought back to life...is bound by sacred law to consummate this curse’.” She pauses, thinking it through and grumbling a swift aside, “wish someone had shown me this about twenty four hours ago.”

“I think we all wish that,” Rosita agrees.

“You weren’t even  _ in _ the goddamn room,” Red points out, angry and resentful.

“Oh my God just let her finish,” Ambrose cries before a real debate can get going.

Waverly takes a breath, works out the next few lines.

“It basically goes on to say that he - the mummy, I guess - will kill everyone who opened the chest and, um,  _ assimilate _ their organs and fluids. Then, in so doing, he will cease to be undead and will become a plague upon the earth.”

“A fun read,” Wynonna adds hollowly, evidently as shocked as the rest of them.

There is a stunned and rather sad silence for a moment, before Nicole does her best to take action.

“Okay, so that’s part of what we’re up against,” she concludes, immediately grouping herself in with the cursed. “Do we know anything at all about whoever this mummified guy once was? I think I’d like to operate on the wisdom of knowing thy enemy.”

Although it is probably for show, Waverly is selfishly glad to see Nicole back to her collected self.

Nicole has always made Waverly feel like she can be a little braver herself, and she needs a bit of courage now more than ever.

“Very little to go on except an old tale that Bobo had for some light reading in his downtime. I borrowed it one night,” Doc tells them and Wynonna catches Waverly’s eye.

“ _ See _ ?” she mouthes silently. “ _ Borrowing _ .”

Doc doesn't notice, and goes on. “This story tells of a high priest in the court of a Pharaoh. Now, said priest was involved in much of the business of the land, and in such comings and goings, he happened to meet the chief wife of the King. Now as legends do, this one paints the Queen as quite beautiful, and I believe we are to assume she caught our priest’s eye.

“Over time the two of them supposedly grew closer and fell in love. In order to be together, they dreamed of a way to escape the palace together.”

“ _ Really _ ?” Wynonna asks, unimpressed at what sounds, for all intents and purposes, like a child’s fairytale. Waverly suspects that this one might not have quite such a happy ending.

“Hang on,” Waverly interjects, holding her hand up. Something is stirring on the edges of her memory, some fact or reading that might help. “I actually think we should hear this.”

With a small nod of his head, Doc continues.

“The priest and the Queen knew that the Pharaoh would search high and low to punish them for their affair, so they took their time and planned every little detail. They knew they needed to run away to somewhere very distant and planning this took time.  However, before everything can be put into place they were caught together by the King himself.

“Naturally, he was angry and, in his rage, he sentences the priest to death. The King elected himself judge, jury,  _ and  _ executioner there and then. He went for his sword and a fight ensued, one which did not end well for the King. The priest and the Queen kill the Pharaoh, immediately condemning themselves to death, as per the law of the land.

“Meanwhile, the noise of the fight had alerted the palace bodyguards and they advanced on our star-crossed lovers. With only seconds to spare, and trusting in the priest’s knowledge of old magic, the Queen took extreme measures. While her lover escaped, she distracted the guards and sacrificed her own life in an act of self-destruction. She knew that, with the help of the Black Book, the priest could resurrect her.

“So  _ he _ raced immediately to Hamunaptra, the sacred city, and began the ritual to bring the Queen’s soul back from hell. But of course, this a cautionary tale and, at the last minute, he was stopped by the King’s guards. The Queen remained in hell but the Pharaoh’s men deemed that too mild a punishment for the priest. He was instead condemned to be cursed and buried alive.” Doc concludes the story gravely, but gives no indication in his tone as to whether he believes it or not.

“And did your pal Bobo give any indication on the hows and whys of this dude coming back to life now?” Nicole asks.

“Ah, well. We were actually rather hoping that your friends could tell us that,” Doc replies seamlessly, looking to Wynonna first and then to Waverly. “You Earps are the experts, after all.”

Wynonna can tell that Waverly is chewing over an idea, so she defers to her.

“Please tell me it’s ringing some bells with you? Because I’ve got very little going on up in here.” Wynonna points to her own head.

“Maybe, but it’s all just fragments,” Waverly says dismissively, “just old tales I’ve picked up here or there over the years. I’d always assumed they were just warning tales told to scare people and keep them in line. You know, like how kids get taught not to suck their thumb with that horrible story? Now though, I don’t know what to believe.”

“Well, that’s a lot of desert out there,” Ambrose says, staring despondently at the horizon. “I figure we got time for a few more stories while we walk.”

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly first heard about the  _ Hom-Dai _ curse when she was twelve years old. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard talk of curses, because her father, for all his absenteeism (both literal and emotional), spent a lot of time passing on old Earp family legends about the curse Wyatt Earp supposedly picked up.

The details were scant and her father’s stories never held up to Waverly’s questions, even when she was tiny. All Ward Earp ever knew was that it was supposedly your basic ‘Howard Carter’ story: an archaeologist and the disturbance of a cursed tomb. Supposedly, this curse transferred down to his ancestors - but it is difficult to tell what any of them really thought they had been cursed with.

Perhaps, looking back, this lack of real detail is partly what hampered Waverly’s belief in curses. Well, that and her discovery just before her father’s death that she might not have any Earp blood in her veins at all. The bitter old fool had sprung that on her a few weeks before he died, and Waverly had deferred a DNA test indefinitely.

But, assuming her father had told the truth for once, she had never had especially different fortunes from Wynonna, who definitely was an Earp by blood.

In fact, Wynonna had reported nothing remotely like a curse in all her twenty-six years. There had been misfortune and sadness, sure, and plenty of it, but that could hardly deem them cursed - could it?

Now though, Waverly had no reason not to believe that some curses really do exist.

The  _ Hom-Dai _ must be one of them. It is also the closest Waverly can come to finding an explanation for their mummy problem.

The curse has been recorded in a few documents, but without enough incidences to really give any historian much pause for thought. If Waverly is correct now, however, then this might well be the only example of the curse ever being set down in such depth.

Reserved only for the most heinous of crimes (presumably the sacrilegious attempt at resurrection rather than the murder) the  _ Hom-Dai _ involved mummifying the victim alive. As a kid, Waverly hadn’t  _ believed _ in the curse, but she had enjoyed hearing about it - even then, she had a taste for the gory. The victim was to be buried alive too, so the ‘mummification’ wasn’t really quite the same thing, but it was a torture of its own unique kind.

Anything that could be taken out without causing death was removed; the tongue, eyes, and so forth. (Waverly drops her voice when explaining this part, trying to keep Carl from hearing it). The organs were left in of course, which could explain why all the men’s canopic jars proved, upon inspection, to be empty.

The next step in any good mummification, however, was not forgone. The body was packed with salt to dry out - the true key to preservation in death. Waverly explains that while the most regal of the deceased might be left for as long as three months, it is highly unlikely a  _ Hom-Dai _ victim would be left for longer than a day or two at most. They key wouldn’t have been to preserve but simply to cause pain as the skin would have become irritated and possibly even blistered in places.

After that came the obvious steps: wrapping and burial. If this guy truly had been cursed in this way, he would have been buried without any protective amulets or spells and he likely would have had a sizeable helping of bugs entombed with him. If desperate enough, they could turn to eating human flesh, and they would have lived a long time on a body that size.

“Okay, no wonder he’s pissed,” Rosita observes when Waverly concludes her horrifying history lesson.

“Yeah, well it’s even been written that, after all that torture, any victim of the  _ Hom-Dai _ was damned to a sort of eternal purgatory. I’m guessing that’s the reason he could be resurrected - his soul didn’t actually go anywhere,” Waverly replies, thinking aloud.

“I’m really going to need a few more drinks if we’re going to start talking about souls,” Doc interjects with distaste.

“As if anything is off the cards now?” Waverly points out. “If you’re still not convinced, I read one account of the  _ Hom-Dai _ that said that the strength of its victims’ grudge at the curse could bring about the ten plagues of Egypt. And we can already tick locusts off that list.” Waverly pauses, takes in the disbelieving looks written on many of her companions’ faces. “I didn’t want to believe it before now either, but…” she spreads her palms as if to say  _ but here we are _ .

Wynonna nods, looking strangely proud - as though Waverly has just delivered a doctoral thesis and not effectively confirmed that half of their group is probably cursed to die a painful death.

“You know, I’d never have thought of it if you hadn’t brought it up,” Wynonna adds, “but now you have, I remember you talking about that damn curse nonstop as a kid, just to gross everyone out.” Wynonna almost sounds as though it is a fond memory to her now. “You beautiful weirdo.”

This somehow gets a nervous, skittish laugh out of most of the group, and it is amazing what it does for their morale. They have been out in the desert almost twelve hours, and Nicole takes the opportunity to suggest a proper break for food and for rest. This time, no one protests.

There is no shade to be had anywhere, so they simply sit where they stop, picking unenthusiastically at their dwindling supplies and trying to make half-hearted small talk. It almost seems normal, that way.

Waverly gravitates, as ever, to Nicole and Wynonna, and the three of them sit ever so slightly apart from the others. The men share some of their own food while Rosita collects her rations and sits somewhere between the two groups.

“How are you two holding up?” Nicole asks quietly, trying to keep the conversation as private as they can under the current conditions.

Around a sip of water, Wynonna tips them a thumbs up and an over-exaggerated nod.

“Oh yeah, just peachy,” she says as she swallows, and Nicole throws her a sideways grin.

“Well, that’s about what I expected,” she says, still wearing the smile. “At least you’ve got your sense of humour,” she jokes before nudging Waverly’s foot with her own. “How about you?”

“Yeah, fine,” Waverly answers, voice weak and unconvincing.

“Well, of the two of you we know who the better liar is,” Nicole says after an uncomfortable pause. “ _ Barely _ ,” she adds with a pointed look at Wynonna, “just incase anyone gets ideas above her station.”

Wynonna lightly punches Nicole on the arm, declaring her rude, and the two of them scuffle side-by-side for a moment. Waverly has seen enough of their interactions by now to know that Wynonna enjoys the way Nicole can hold resolute, see past the grit of the situation and just get on with things. They both have the capacity for it in these situations; Wynonna with her dark humour and Nicole with her insatiable persistence in everything she seems to do.

Waverly, however, caught in the knowledge that this is all her fault, cannot find it within her to make light of the situation just yet. Drawing her legs up, she brings her knees to her chest and rests her arms across them, staring out at all the ochre sand around them.

Wynonna catches the look on Waverly’s face and calls mercy rules on the shoving for second.

“Hey, Waves c’mon. We have to keep our heads up if we’re gonna get through this,” Wynonna tells her gently, leaning around Nicole slightly to better face Waverly.

“I know it’s not a great thing to hear,” Nicole chimes in, “but Wynonna’s right. Trust me when I say it’ll do you no good to dwell on what’s passed, or to keep replaying ‘could haves’ over and over in your head. You don’t get out of the desert like that. I know how you must be feeling, but we came in here as a team and we’ll get out that way too.”

Try as she might to fight the quiver in her lip, Waverly succumbs for a second and buries her head in her arms. She isn’t crying as such (she thinks she might be too dehydrated to ever cry again) but she does feel completely done in. Emotion overcomes her, and she needs to take a minute.

She hopes no one else is watching, because she does not want to show weakness, much less in front of four men who are probably pretty mad at her.

Nicole is there in an instant, scooting closer and wrapping an arm around Waverly’s shoulders. She draws her into a sideways hug, ever so slightly awkward and uncomfortable at their current angle.

They have been out in the desert with minimal washing facilities for long enough that everyone and everything is pretty fresh, and it shouldn’t, by all accounts, be a particularly pleasant thing to have bodies in such close contact at this stage. But in reality Waverly savours that embrace like it is the fresh food she has been craving for weeks.

It isn’t as though she hasn’t been physically close to Nicole all this time, squeezed up against her every night in a too-small tent, but this feels intentional and soothing and, above all, homely.

“Okay,” Wynonna says quietly from the other side of Nicole, “I wouldn’t normally say this but given the less than orthodox circumstances I think I can trust you all to take this to your graves, however imminent or not you will be arriving there. I’m coming in, group hug time.”

She shuffles through the sand to Waverly’s free side and loops her arm below Nicole’s.

Waverly tries not to sniffle but they are both making it pretty hard.

“Come on kiddo,” Wynonna whispers, “that’s body moisture you can’t afford to lose out here.”

This makes Waverly give out a single laugh, muffled and kind of ugly even to her own ears.

“Guys not to push this too far but I think we’re having a moment,” Nicole points out, her breath tickling Waverly’s ear.

Wynonna huffs. “If you mention this to anyone Haught I am going to kill you.”

“I knew you were a softie at heart Earp.”

Waverly does not speak again until long after the hug ends but, in that place of shelter between Wynonna and Nicole, she silently agrees with Nicole. They are having a moment.

They are having the kind of moment that Waverly would remember forever; the kind of moment from which she would draw a great deal of strength in the days to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wheeew boy, out of the frying pan into the fire/boiling hot desert amirite??? and /i/ still have the audacity to complain about mondays at the office. 
> 
> it was fun-slash-daunting to write an action-heavier chapter, as anyone who's read my other fics know i haven't really done that since my agent carter days. i would love to hear how you guys think i did - it's not my strongest suit and i'm always looking to improve. 
> 
> again, not a ton of history here but it obviously goes without saying, i should think, that the hom dai is completely invented in the movie, and i have stuck with it here more or less. similarly, maybe there was/is an old egyptian tale like the one i have borrowed from the movie but if there is i don't know much of anything about it. in fact, i probably have more to say here about how i'm incorporating the movie/wynonna earp plotlines here so:
> 
>   * one of the biggest stumbling blocks when deciding to write this fic was how i'd incorporate a lot of the Bad Stuff that happens to characters in the movies without a) hurting characters we love or b) inventing new characters people aren't all that attached to. so i chose to use carl in the place of mr burns from the movie (although if you're like me you're thinking of the simpsons rn). this is because i felt there was a good mirror between the injuries carl sustains at the start of s1 as the ones he would sustain here. having a bunch of horrible...i mean...morally questionable revenants like carl, red, jack etc. has proved really handy for this part of the plot. anyway suffice it to say that i do sort of feel bad for carl but, yknow, not thaaaat much. i hope this has worked so far in the fic.
>   * i'm sort of combining beni from the mummy and mr hafez from the mummy returns in bobo's character as i thought it made more sense that, as in the mummy returns, he has actively gone looking for the mummy to raise him from the dead and profit from such a close association with such a powerful being. again i feel it sooort of maybe loosely ties in w some of bobo's aspirations in early s1 so i'm running w it now
>   * i know that losing your tongue is sort of a kill switch on the whole talking thing, but i'm following the movie's lead here for the creepiness of it
>   * not related to either w.earp or the mummy but one thing that really annoys me in movies like this is how scholars can understand all this ancient language, history etc when they're studying it from a completely removed perspective. how, hooow, can evy just /understand/ the mummy in the original movie??? it bothers me, so i'm adding an extra level of adversity for our faves here in constructing an additional barrier in their understanding. how...fun?
> 

> 
> i think that's everything. i'm excited to get back into character dynamics in the next few chapters, as that really is my favourite thing and i think (hope??) you'll enjoy what i've got planned for you guys. my love and thanks as ever to anja for proofreading and to you all for sticking with this fic. thank you as ever for your comments - the feedback on last week's chapter was so wonderful i didn't even really know how to react! if you have a moment, i'd be so grateful to hear from you. 
> 
> as ever, look after yourselves and each other until next week


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rated pg for pretty gay. or pb for pretty bi. or both - both is definitely good. 
> 
> (also lots more running away, back on the damn trains, and uhhhh...friends reunited, maybe???)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me whyyy i don't like mondaysss...oh yeah it's because i have to do five more days at work before i get to the weekend again. and because it's really cold and might snow. but i dooo like mondays because it's time for another chapter! 
> 
> and, well, i'm quite excited to share the next two chapters with you all - i think there's going to be a couple of plot points you'll, ahem, _enjoy_. therefore, i'm not even going to delay. see you after the chapter for a reaaally long history lesson!

Even running on almost no sleep and accounting for Carl, they make it back across the desert almost as quickly as they had managed it before.

Amr is not around to bail them out this time, but they make it to a main road thanks, as ever, to Nicole’s knowledge of the lay of the land. From there they are picked up by a kindly stranger who takes one look at Carl’s poorly bandaged face and offers them all the help he can.

The journey by road is much the same too; they try not to get severe sunburn in the unsheltered back of another truck, although this time they sit on the bed directly and they share the space with a mistrustful female goat and her two kids. The overall experience is hellishly uncomfortable - probably more so even than last time. Indeed, Waverly half suspects her skeleton has been entirely rearranged by the time she gets back off the truck again.

This is not to say, however, that they are in any way ungrateful for the help.

Worse than the bone-shaking mode of transport, is the way time blurs around them as they leave the desert behind. The act of travelling becomes little more than an anxiety-fuelled necessity. The frustration of sitting back as someone else drives brings most of them close to tears or angry outbursts.

It feels as though they should be doing more, moving faster, hauling ass in any number of better ways. But, for their little band, there are no better ways.

Time spent idle is time spent overthinking things, and Waverly suspects that every person around her is ruminating on how much good running can actually do. She does not believe, deep down, that distance alone will be enough to keep the mummy at bay forever.

After all, it is not like he has much else to be doing.

Empty time, slow as molasses, only gives way to a frenetic feeling of blind panic once they return to civilisation.

Out in the desert, even half-delirious with fear and exhaustion, nothing feels real and very little feels _fast_. The sudden return to human life hits them like a sledgehammer and reality sets in with greater intensity.

Even the hustle and bustle of the smallest Egyptian townsteads and markets feels hurried now, and it almost makes Waverly long for their near-solitary confinement among the sand dunes again.

Worse than anything else is the hyper-awareness of all the innocent people around them. Waverly does not want anyone else caught in the crossfire she is sure will follow, not when this is her mess. She feels her panic rise every time they slow down to replenish stocks of water, food, or bandages.

Every delay, every pause, feels like more than they can afford. Waverly hates how uncharitable it feels to tap her foot impatiently as a young, pretty market vendor mixes a salve for Carl’s open wounds.

Of them all, Carl is suffering the most and Rosita had already whispered in Waverly’s ear that she thinks he is getting an infection. They all know he needs help, but if pressed no one would say they were truly happy about any hold-ups.

The worst delays of all, however, are at train stations. This is when the pulsing current of their shared anxiety seems fit to burst its banks. No one mentions the fear, it simply lingers and grows until it is an oversized, bulbous elephant in every room, every space they occupy.

And with every passing minute, Waverly’s sense of guilt and overwhelming responsibility only intensifies too. While it is true that this situation is her fault, it is also true that if someone else had resurrected the mummy, the group would still be reliant on her. She is the only one with sufficient knowledge of the ancient history and languages to stand a half a chance at finding a solution.

Even Wynonna, who had also been brought up on stories of Ancient Egypt, could only offer up moderate assistance. Her interests had lain in Ancient Greece and over the years she had grown more than a little rusty on her Egyptian knowledge.

The burden to save...well, everyone is on Waverly’s shoulders and the weight is already causing her to buckle.

After no small amount of gentle prompting, she eventually voices these thoughts to Nicole. They talk in hushed tones in the dead of night as they sit on yet another half-empty train. It almost feels safer to voice such ill-starred things as doubt under the cover of darkness.

The rest of the group seems to be asleep, with almost everyone snoring or grunting softly to prove it. The illusion of privacy makes Waverly slightly braver - it is easier to voice her fears to Nicole or Wynonna, but the three of them scarcely have any privacy to talk together anymore.

Wynonna has once again fallen asleep across a row of seats, feet dangling onto the floor in a way that surely cannot be comfortable. She has her head on one of Waverly’s legs and it is nice to have her so close and warm. Plus, it gives Waverly’s restless hands something to do as she affectionately threads her fingers through Wynonna’s loose, dark hair where it splays out onto Waverly’s lap.  

Even less adept than Waverly at talking about her feelings, Wynonna has not yet voiced the fact that she is scared. Regardless, Waverly knows the truth.

Wynonna is as needy as the next person when it really comes down to it - everyone needs comfort and closeness sometimes. The only difference is that Wynonna is more pissed than most about this fact, more resistant to it. In particularly low moments, she unconsciously seeks out an extra modicum of physical contact as the first step.

Tactile as Waverly is, that kind of thing is totally in her wheelhouse and she is always happy to oblige.

Sat opposite the sisters, Nicole speaks as quietly as possible, trying to let everyone else rest.

“You’re not alone Waverly,” she insists softly after chewing over Waverly’s admission for a moment. It is nice, the way Nicole listens and takes time to process everything before she replies. “I can’t promise much right now, but I can promise that.”

Waverly nods, appreciative but unconvinced. Nicole smiles knowingly - the doubt must be written all over Waverly’s face.

The thing is, rationally Waverly knows that she is not alone. It is obvious every day she and this strange group of people are forced to keep each other’s company. It is obvious from the way that Nicole and Wynonna stay glued to Waverly’s sides like limpets to a rock, trying to keep her from dwelling too much on what has happened.

But in spite of all of this, it is Waverly that must contend with the fact that her failure to find a solution will cause people to die…

Watching as Waverly thinks, Nicole’s smile grows sad. There is something so painful behind the expression, in fact, that Waverly’s chest aches with it.

“I know it feels like you’ve got no one to help,” Nicole goes on. “And I’m not trying to pretend that the ‘solution’,” Nicole says the word sourly, like it is entirely the wrong description but nothing better is forthcoming, “is probably going to come down to your knowledge and research. I know what you’re trying to say. But you’ve got Wynonna, she knows tons about this stuff. And, you’ve got...well you know. I mean, I’m here too even if I don’t know much. I’ll do whatever has to be done.”

Nicole’s jaw tightens as she speaks, evidence of a conviction for which Waverly needs no further proof - she has seen it in Nicole time and again.

Guilt has become a default for Waverly now, but it intensifies impossibly when she thinks of how her complaints must sound to Nicole.

Nicole is _tired_.

It doesn’t matter how much she tries play it down - it is obvious in the bags under eyes and the slight slump in her shoulders. It is obvious too in the way she speaks now; unguarded and sometimes less articulate, her verbal filter whittled right down to a bare minimum.

“I’m not going to run away the second we get back to somewhere remotely populated. I’m staying,” Nicole adds simply, like it is obvious enough but should be stated anyway.

Waverly casts her eyes down, feeling them fill with tears. Her grip on her emotions has been pretty loose in recent days what with the exhaustion and the near-constant anxiety. Right now, with Nicole being so stoic and calm, never once complaining that people have relied on _her_ to survive the desert, Waverly cannot bear the idea of crying.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” she says quietly, half-wishing that Nicole would agree there and then to go underground and keep herself safe. Waverly knows, though, that pigs will fly before this happens - or else the woman sat in front of her would not be Nicole.

“Do you want me to?” Nicole asks suddenly, and Waverly can tell it is not a question she would have asked had she possessed even half of her usual energy levels. This is Nicole sleepy and uninhibited and at any other time, it would be sweet and endearing.

As it is, the question shocks Waverly into silence for a moment. Nicole’s voice is so plain - just a tinge of hurt and fear playing beneath the surface - and it seems to suggest that if Waverly told Nicole to leave, _really_ told her, then she would. Judging by the look on Nicole’s face, however, the idea is not something she enjoys thinking about.

Waverly hovers, torn between two conflicting emotions, whilst feeling painfully aware that every beat of silence must be ringing in Nicole’s ears.

“I don’t want...I - Nicole, the thought of you going is awful,” Waverly says, realising as she speaks just how painful it really is to imagine being without Nicole. “But more than that I want you to be safe, by which I mean _all_ of you of course, but mostly…”

_But mostly you and my sister._

Waverly cannot bring herself to speak that particular truth, as unfair as it feels towards all the other lives that have become entwined with her own. She does not finish the sentence, feeling content that Nicole understands.

Nicole _always_ understands.

The fear fades out of Nicole’s face, and Waverly is powerless to do anything more than watch, than _observe_.

Nicole looks as painfully beautiful tonight - tired eyes and all - as she has on every sleepless night they have spent together since they boarded that stranger’s truck.

She is as soft, as sleepy, as wholeheartedly _tender_ as when she wakes every morning - a moment which, when she gets to witness it, has long been one of the best parts of Waverly’s days. In fact Waverly’s heart aches with the acuteness of the feeling she carries inside her now, everywhere at once, when she sees Nicole, when she so much as thinks about her.

And it is this growing acuteness in Waverly that makes a new and strange absence in Nicole harder to bear. It has been noticeable only in recent days, and Waverly thinks she understands why.

Since leaving Hamunaptra Nicole has given her everything to getting everyone to safety, to cajoling the team even when she herself must be reliving every nightmare of her previous desert escape.  

Waverly worries for Nicole and the concern is both selfless _and_ selfish.

Waverly is not the only one with the world on her shoulders, and the weight on Nicole is only exacerbating her exhaustion. The nightmares, the tiredness, the pressing responsibility all together were sending Nicole further and further inwards.

And still she tries, God she tries, to put a happy face on it even (especially) as she sits here, trying to comfort Waverly. Nicole succeeds, even now, because that is simply who she is.

But something is going missing now too. The easy smiles, the constant laughter, and all things told, yes, the heat that had seared between them. Waverly understands - she has no expectations on either Nicole or herself - but God she misses it. She hadn’t even realised its significance, how much easier it made the long days, until it disappeared.

She misses the sly glances, the careless brush of skin against skin; she misses the feeling that she is wanted on a deep and soulful level, not so much in a narcissistic way, but because she feels the same towards Nicole.

She thinks, strongly suspects even, that Nicole still feels it all, still lives and breathes the connection between them, but Waverly worries (on top of everything else) that this has changed them all forever. She is pretty sure that cursing a girl with an undead mummy problem is kind of the opposite of first date material.

After all, Nicole had never wanted to make this trip in the first place and now it might be her demise. Nicole, who had survived everything else life had thrown at her so far, might not survive meeting Waverly Earp.  

“Wave…” Nicole finally speaks, looking concerned. “Tell me, yeah? Tell me what’s going on right now, I think you just went to a different planet for a moment.”

“I guess I just…” Waverly swallows down a knot of emotion, “I just don’t know why you do it. Or _how_ you do it.”

“Do what?” Nicole asks, her confusion genuine.

“Take care of everyone, ignore the fact that I’m whining over something that is _no_ different from what you’ve been through. It’s all on me soon, but it’s all been on you since we set out.”

Improbably, this makes Nicole smile. It is a glimmer of that genuine, knowing grin that Waverly has grown used to and it warms away a little of that cool, clammy guilt on Waverly’s skin.

“I signed up for this just as much as you did. More so, having experienced the city before. I know I haven’t exactly been hiding it well these past few days and I’m s- ”

“I’m not saying it for that,” Waverly interrupts, horrified at the implication.

“I know you’re not. I know you’re worrying about me, you know. That you’re pretending that what you’re feeling is somehow less valid than what _I’m_ feeling, just because I’ve been through it before. But that’s not fair to you. This situation is objectively the shittiest situation of all our lives. We’re feeling that, it’s okay.”

Waverly blinks, trying to process everything Nicole is saying.

“Plus,” Nicole adds with another smile, “you’re willfully forgetting that last time I did this alone, and this time I have you. I have never felt _less_ alone and it is because of you, Waverly.”

A few tears do spill free onto Waverly’s cheeks then, mostly because of the raw edge to Nicole’s voice but also because the cumulative emotion in her body is too much to bear.  

Nicole looks as though she feels the same, her eyes a little shinier than normal in the moonlight.

“I’m sorry,” Waverly whispers, voice too wobbly for anything louder. The words feel like a balm and a wound all at once because this is the first time she has tried to say them since opening the black book. She knows Nicole does not resent her, but she needed to apologise.

“Don’t be,” Nicole says firmly and tenderly, the way she does everything.

“Well I am,” Waverly retorts, a little bit petulant and a little bit playful, but mostly just full of remorse. “You warned me about it, you didn’t even want to go back. And now I’ve - what if he really does kill us all, Nicole?”

More tears come just at the thought of it. The thought of _that_ happening to Nicole and Wynonna is a physical pain in Waverly’s chest.

“ _Hey_ ,” Nicole says urgently, dropping out of her seat to crouch in front of Waverly so that she can close the physical gap between them.

She rests both hands over Waverly’s, stilling their nervous movements for the first time since the train set off. With Wynonna asleep off to the side, the position is awkward but neither of them can begin to care.

Nicole evidently does not want to wake Wynonna and she whispers so quietly that Waverly has to crane closer to hear her.

“Don’t think like that, okay? It’s not going to happen. I’m not going to let anything happen to you Wave.” It is not the first time, even tonight, that Nicole has let a diminutive slip, but it has Waverly’s stomach knotting in a positive way for the first time in days.

“I’m not thinking of me,” Waverly whispers back, dropping her eyes first to Wynonna, then looking back up to Nicole pointedly.

“Well that’s no matter, because I am,” Nicole replies with a smile, squeezing Waverly’s hands. “I’ve got you Waverly, okay?” She waits for Waverly to give a small nod. “And I’ve got Wynonna too - that goes without saying, yeah? But honestly, I’m probably more scared of her than I am the mummy anyway.”

She finally manages to win a small laugh from Waverly, which causes Wynonna to huff.

“Good,” she mumbles sleepily. “You should be scared Haught. I’m sick of the two of you waking me up with your chats and your googly eyes,” she grouses, even though she has not once stirred all night.

“Isn’t this literally the first time it’s happened?” Waverly asks, sadness momentarily forgotten.

“You can’t say that for sure,” Wynonna points out, still half-asleep and not making her most cogent argument. “And once this is all over, I will get my revenge. You will not rest for a week, mark my words.”

“Just a week?” Nicole quips back immediately as Wynonna shimmies about to get comfortable, head dropping off Waverly’s lap and onto the seat.

“Don’t test me Haught, the week is negotiable.”

“I’m sure it is,” Nicole agrees fondly as Wynonna quickly drifts back to sleep with a lengthy and disgruntled mumble that sounds suspiciously like _just put us all out of our misery, already_.

It makes Nicole laugh and, if Waverly isn’t much mistaken, blush slightly. They are still close together and Waverly has never wanted to kiss her more.

(Or, perhaps, she wants to kiss her now as much as every other time before. It is kind of a million-way tie.)

This time, though, it is all so very different. Waverly is certain now that they could die at any time, and that thought gives even the most cautious of souls a sense of urgency. (And as it happens, Waverly was not actually the most cautious of souls to begin with).

For all she knows, this might even be the end of goddamn world and surely something has to give.

She slips a hand from under Nicole’s palm, and she anchors it lightly at the soft spot where Nicole’s neck meets her shoulder.

Nicole watches Waverly intently but does not say anything, does not even move, as Waverly begins to skate her thumb lightly back and forth

Everything else around them seems to fade to nothing, and when time starts to draw out it no longer feels unpleasantly slow. It feels quiet and gentle and as though an avalanche might pass unnoticed between them.

 _Perhaps_ , Waverly thinks, _it already has_.

It takes her a moment to realise that she is unconsciously moving closer, drawn on a string she cannot see but that must, surely, have existed since the day she was born.

They draw closer, but Waverly feels every millimetre like it is a mile.

She can almost feel the ghost of Nicole’s lips - close now, impossibly close - when Nicole brings a hand up to cup at Waverly’s cheek. Their lips brush together only as the train jolts, more through accident than intent, but it still feels like a match to phosphorus.

And then Nicole tightens her grip, just enough to stop any further advance.

Just like that, Waverly feels her body grow cold and the sudden urge to shrivel backwards into her seat overtakes her.

Her first thought is that she has imagined everything. Her second thought is that Nicole might take offence at Waverly trying to kiss her. _But then_ Waverly wonders _why would she let all that happen just now_?

Surely Waverly could not have been _that_ far off base. Even Wynonna had thought...

“Wave,” Nicole whispers, voice strained and shaking under the effort of even one single word. Her breath tickles hotly against Waverly’s lips. “I don’t think we sh - not like this. I don’t want you to do this just because you think we might -”

Nicole half chokes on the words and does not manage to speak them aloud.

“And,” she goes on, “especially not with, you know…” she uses her free hand to gesture awkwardly at their surroundings; at the dingy train, at the men in slumber a few seats behind Waverly’s back, at Wynonna just one seat away.

She goes to draw back but then, on an impulse, presses a chaste kiss to the very corner of Waverly’s mouth.

It is over far too soon and Nicole quickly draws away to sit back on her heels.

She is forced to look upwards to meet Waverly’s eye and her expression is deeply earnest, her face open and honest and laid bare yet again.  

Disappointed as she feels, Waverly understands. More importantly, her mind swims pleasantly with the knowledge that Nicole really does want her too.

Eventually, looking reluctant to put the distance between them, Nicole returns to her seat with a grimace as her stiff legs uncoil.

“I didn’t do it now just because of what’s happened,” Waverly finally remembers to say, vaguely distressed that Nicole would ever think that.

 _I should have done it sooner,_ Waverly does not add. There is no need to.

Nicole remains silent - words are superfluous as she smiles at Waverly, her whole body glowing like it was designed only to shine like _that_.

Although they barely manage to sleep, Waverly’s mind knows peace for the first time in days...

 

 

 

 

 

“Is it just me or this not Cairo?” Wynonna asks as they let Nicole usher them out of the train station and into the bright morning sun. They had all, Waverly included, expected to head for a connecting train.

“Get a load of Christopher Colombus over here,” Nicole replies, and Wynonna - in slightly better spirits after a not-terrible night’s sleep - hits Nicole with her backpack before using the remaining momentum to sling it onto her shoulders.  

“So how are we getting there?” Waverly asks, grinning when Nicole catches her eye to respond. They have been like that all morning - unable to share a look without smiling like a pair of idiots.

Waverly had insisted that nothing had happened when Wynonna whispered the question in her ear earlier, and Wynonna knows an honest response when she sees it from her sister.

All the same, it was still pretty obvious that _something_ is different.

“We’re not,” Nicole says, almost apologetic, and it is a pretty good way to have the smile sliding off Waverly’s face in surprise.

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Wynonna asks, looking between Waverly and Nicole as though Waverly had something to do with this.

“I thought you all knew,” Nicole glances at their assembled party. “It was on the tickets: singles to Luxor.”

Nicole does not look at all surprised that no one had given the ticket stubs a second glance. It was hardly their primary concern.

“But we live in Cairo,” Wynonna points out tersely.

“I’m sorry you guys, but it’s where they’ll expect us to be. Bobo knows we got the boat at Beni Suef, and he knows what you guys do for a living. It won’t be a huge conceptual leap to assume we’ve gone back to Cairo to get your belongings and scarper.”

“Which _is_ the plan, isn’t it?” Doc asks, voice dangerous. “To put as much distance between ourselves and that monster as we can?”

“I’m no expert but something tells me that thing won’t just rest because you’ve headed Stateside,” Nicole snaps and it quietens whatever complaint Doc was going to raise next.

“Well I’m no expert either but something tells _me_ that he’ll have a hell of a time at Border Control if he tries to follow us,” Ambrose hits back immediately and, defensive as she feels on Nicole’s behalf, Waverly has to concede that he has a point.

It is not, however, the full story.

Yes, the priest would be slowed down significantly if they could put an ocean between themselves and him, but it wouldn’t stop him forever.

“Luxor has a pretty nice international airport in that direction,” Waverly adds, pointing. “If you guys want to go then no one’s stopping you. He’ll come for you either way. But we started this and some of us,” she throws a look at Wynonna and Nicole, “are going to finish it.”

She does not feel half as confident as she sounds, but she has no intention of giving up now, much less of leading the mummy into the path of other people. It does not matter that she is scared witless - they have work to do.

“He can’t just board a plane,” Ambrose repeats, voice raised.

“There are other ways to travel,” Waverly points out, “ways that don’t necessarily involve passports and identity checks. You guys know Bobo is resourceful and he’s clearly flying the demon’s colours. Besides,” Waverly adds bitterly, “this dude knew _magic_ back in the day. For all we know he can like, apparate or some shit.”

Wynonna groans.

“Dude _._ We are in _mortal peril_ right now. I’m going to need you to cool it with the references for a bit.”

 

 

 

 

 

They wend their way through the busy streets, the dual temples of Luxor and Karnak always somewhere in sight, ceaselessly presiding over the city.

Waverly had always loved it here, loved the way that the modern city had sprung up around the relics of the past; a contrast between then and now. She cannot fully appreciate it today as she would normally, but it is a quiet sort of comfort nonetheless.

After all the bellyache they give, the men still do not leave. They might want to run but they know that Waverly is their best hope against the mummy, and they would rather not estrange her.

They make it abundantly clear that they are not happy, but they do fall silent when Wynonna finally loses her temper and tells them to _shut the hell up_.

Ignoring the squabbles, Waverly suggests they head for anywhere that will let her access a computer - but preferably for a library.

Although she has always been a bullet journal kind of person (it’s the aesthetic that gets her, damnit), she is also a cloud storage convert too. Over the years she has spent hours digitising absolutely everything she has ever written, and she had made pretty solid headway in scanning in past Earps’ notes too.

She has grown quite accustomed to the luxury of constant access to her own personal database, and she has missed it intensely since she set out for Hamunaptra. Granted, this is not the situation she had ever envisaged when she once thought she might need an old obscure reference in a pinch, but she can only thank her past self’s proactive stance.

Admittedly, her personal book collection would be nice too but anything she has not already noted down online probably is not worth knowing right now anyway.

They find a large, expansive library in the old-fashioned way - by accosting a random stranger on the street and asking for directions - and eventually park the men at a cafe directly opposite the grand old building. The sad fact of the matter is that Carl attracts far too much attention.

The women (Rosita included - she knows more than enough to help and seems to have a calmer head than Levi or Ambrose) blag their way into the library with the help of one of Waverly’s old, expired student cards. She sweet talks - or arguably just irritates - a librarian into allowing them use of computers. Eventually, they are granted admission on the condition that they cannot borrow anything without a valid ID.

They barely even have the presence of mind to thank the librarian before hurrying to track down a set of workstations with computers. These prove to be very limited in number, but after no small amount of prowling and loitering they claim a block of four.  

“There’s an army base just out of town,” Nicole whispers while they wait for the old computers to boot up. “My division had contacts there. I’m going to head out later today, see if I can swing anything.”

“Swing what?” Rosita asks, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“I’m not going to bail on anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Nicole says quickly, slightly sharp by her own gentle standards. “But if it all goes to shit here - ”

Wynonna laughs humorlessly. “What, like this isn’t shit?”

“If it all goes to even _more_ shit,” Nicole amends, “then I want to know I did everything I could to get us all to safety.”

“I’m not - ” Waverly begins but Nicole is one step ahead.

“I’m not asking you to run away from this,” she says, turning to Waverly and softening. “I’m saying that I want an extraction plan if he finds us. You can’t save the world if he catches you. Things go south and we get out, we head somewhere else, we try again yeah?”

“I’ll take running as a last resort,” Rosita agrees, an apology in her eyes.

Nicole smiles. Apology accepted.

Waverly has very little to add and, instead, subtly reaches out towards Nicole.

Waverly slips her hand against Nicole’s where it rests in her own lap. Their fingers thread together and Nicole squeezes Waverly’s hand tightly in a tiny show of support.

They do not let go until the computers finally blink into life and there is time to think of nothing but throwing themselves into research.

 

 

 

 

 

They work for hours with barely a break to visit the bathrooms.

Waverly takes the lead, setting everyone else loose on the library’s books while she trawls through reams of her own research.

Unsurprisingly, there are scant references to either ancient magic or curses.

Waverly had known it would never be as simple as hitting _control_ and _f_ and does her best not to panic, approaching the problem in a roundabout way. Still, even this yields very little.

The only minor breakthrough comes, eventually, from Wynonna.

Frustrated with the dry tone of her assigned reading, she gives up and does a string of increasingly narrow Google searches, looking for the legend Doc had recapped for them.

“ _Imhotep_ ,” she reads quietly from a webpage that looks about as old as the internet itself. “At least that’s what they’re calling him here. Although that’s not to say they’re right.”

“I think we have to assume they are,” Waverly says grimly, craning her neck to read the small text - _Papyrus_ of all fonts - around the glare of the overhead lights on the monitor. “The mummy is real, the curse is real - this is probably real too. Any ID on the Queen? It might be a solid lead.”

Wynonna hums to herself, scrolling with the mouse and reading fast. Waverly sees her reach a small and blurry photo of what looks like hieroglyphics on papyrus - _actual_ papyrus this time, not the ugly font.

“This internet dude, whoever he is, claims that this is a fragment of the original records about the priest and the Queen.” Wynonna squints and tilts her head. “I’m not as good as I once was, but it looks like _Anck-Su-Namun_ to me.”

Waverly immediately knocks over a stack of books, earning herself a sarcastic _ssshh_ from Wynonna as she parodies an overzealous librarian who had chastised them earlier.

“What did you say?” Waverly hisses urgently.

“ _Anck-Su-Namun_. Why, does it mean something to you?”

“He said it to me,” Waverly launches herself out of her seat to read directly over Wynonna’s shoulder. “When I first saw him at Hamunaptra. Well, when I first saw him undead and kicking. I couldn’t understand the rest of it because he spoke too fast, but he said that name. He said it slowly too, like it was important.”

Both Wynonna and Nicole swear under their breath and at any other time Waverly might have remarked that they have been together for too long.

“You really can’t remember the rest?” Wynonna asks.

That night is still burned into the back of her eyes and Waverly casts here mind back, lips moving silently as she tries to replay the mummy’s words.

“I think I can remember,” she says cautiously, aware that fear has probably distorted a lot of her memories. “But it doesn’t matter - I couldn’t understand it.”

“Can you repeat it?” Nicole asks. “Like, aloud and just phonetically? I don’t know if that’s stupid, but it helps me sometimes.”  

Feeling absurd but aware that Nicole is right, Waverly gives it a try. The first time, she looks hopefully at Wynonna who just shakes her head emphatically.

“Oh no. You know I was better with the Greeks. But I know you can do this.”

Waverly repeats it over and over, repeats it until the words should technically mean less. But if she shaves away the accent, if she intonates differently every time, words start making themselves more obvious to her.

The word 'queen' gradually emerges and eventually it makes sense to Waverly:

"Come with me my Queen, Anck-Su-Namun," she says to herself and sighs. It is hardly revelation material and for some reason it just gives Waverly a horrible sense of foreboding.

"Huh. I wonder why he said that to you?" Wynonna asks, rubbing a hand over her face as she stifles a large yawn. "God I'm beat. Reckon we should take a break while we mull it over? I could murder a decent cup of coffee. And it might give us a second wind."

Rosita nods, the quietest of the group thus far. She has read through an impressive number of texts, a stolen piece of paper peppered with a few notes in small, cramped handwriting.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Together with Nicole, they persuade Waverly to take a break for lunch, largely by insisting that her concentration will be better if she actually eats and drinks something.

"You could smuggle me something in?" she says hopefully but Wynonna shakes her head again.

"No way. That librarian was shit scary and barely let us smuggle _ourselves_ in. Just take twenty minutes will you? It'll help to get some fresh air, I promise."

After momentary consideration Waverly agrees and gets up stiffly, days hiking through the desert finally catching up with her muscles.  
  
They leave their books in place to stake claim to the workstations, an act which Waverly would have decried if she didn’t feel so utterly tired and defeated. All they have found after half a day of research is a possible name for the old priest. Something tells Waverly that he is not the kind of demon they can destroy simply by naming it.

As they trot down the building's grand staircase, they chatter amongst themselves.

“I hope they’re where we left them,” Rosita mutters, referring to the men. “They literally had one job.”

The men had been tasked with finding accommodation options for them all. The cafe is close enough that they could take advantage of the library's wifi if needed, and - unlike Waverly, Nicole, and Wynonna - they had retained enough money from the boat fire to buy new cell phones and rent a few rooms.

It would be a fairly loose description to say that everyone has agreed to pool their resources, but this is the eventual outcome.

(In summary, Wynonna had insisted that if the men were going to ‘have their asses saved’, then the least they could do was pay for two cheap hotel rooms somewhere off the beaten track).

Sure enough, when the four women step into the stifling midday heat, they find their comrades exactly where they left them: at the edge of the open air seating area by the sidewalk. They are huddled uncomfortably around a small table which is littered with empty cups and plates.

The men greet them with hopeful looks and a modest list of hotels, but as soon as they catch four dejected, glassy expressions all sense of optimism is gone.

Waverly and Nicole leave everyone else to filter through the accommodation options while they head off to make a large food order.

It is not so much that Wynonna will particularly care about where they stay, but more that she will be exacting and specific for the sake of acting difficult. The idea amuses Nicole - Waverly can tell without a word even passing between them on the subject - and she has no real objections to letting Wynonna enjoy herself too. After all, someone might as well have fun while Waverly worries and tries not to melt under the glare of the sun.

The heat here is different; it is prickly and close in a way that the open space of the desert could not match. The temperature is dragged higher by cars and the bustle of so many bodies, and although there is finally shade and shelter, it does nothing to stop Waverly feeling more unclean than she did in a tent in the middle of nowhere. She thinks longingly of a cool, clean shower or, better still of a bath - the first in far too long.

Still, Waverly ignores the heat as best she can and finds every excuse to lean against Nicole as they stand and wait to be served. Although what she is doing is glaringly obvious, Nicole still seems amused by it. She grins down at Waverly with a smile that is nothing short of breathtakingly charming.

It is the tail end of a lunchtime rush, and it takes a while for them to reach the front of the line. As a wealth of food options suddenly open up to her, Waverly becomes aware of just how hungry she is. She orders a range of dishes to share, ensures she does not forget Wynonna's strong coffee, and is just about to pay with Red’s money when Nicole quite literally bolts from Waverly's side at top speed.

She manages to garble out something like “holy _shit_. Be right back,” before taking off out of the front doorway and pelting in the opposite direction to their table.

For a heart-stopping moment Waverly is convinced that the mummy must have caught up with them.

She glances around the space in a haze of fear, trying to pick out the creature or even one of Bobo's men, but there is nothing out of the ordinary. She shakes her head to herself as she tries to ignore the cafe owner's curious gaze - it is a stupid idea to begin with, nevermind that Nicole would not abandon them.

Nonetheless, it does not explain why she shot outside like a bullet and Waverly itches to follow. Some strange sense of propriety, however, makes finish paying for their order.

The man at the counter fumbles with her change and Waverly can feel the anxious voice in her head rising to a frustrated shout as he delays her. She takes the notes a little too quickly before rushing outside.

The streets are packed and, with the glare of the sun in her face, it takes Waverly a second to locate Nicole. Thankfully, she is easy to spot with her pale skin and the bright copper sheen of her hair.

She is a little way ahead, trying to dodge a slalom course of small crowds of milling people, street vendors, and the odd stray dog scrounging for scraps.

Waverly shouts for her, jogging to try and catch up, and when she advances she can hear Nicole shouting out something too. Waverly cannot possibly hope to hear her from so far away, but she can watch as a man at a fresh fruit stall looks up suddenly at Nicole’s cry.

A glimmer of shock passes over the man's face before it is replaced with something truer and happier - relief and delight and recognition all at once. He discards whatever he was looking to buy and hurtles towards Nicole. They don't so much embrace as collide into one another, their momentum sending them careening off to one side.

By the time Waverly catches up the initial shock of the moment is over, and the man has grabbed Nicole into a tight bear hug which she returns in earnest.

Unwilling to interrupt whatever odd moment is happening, Waverly hovers at a distance until the man catches sight of her and pulls away from Nicole to mention the stranger staring at them both.

With the exception of their almost-kiss in the small hours, Nicole looks brighter than Waverly has seen her in days but she still manages to smile even more widely to see Waverly standing there. Her face is ruddy from her dash, short hairs at the back of her neck slightly damp and sticking to her skin. She is beautiful, even like that, but Waverly steels herself to stay on topic. She has a lot of questions.

"Nicole, what's going on?" Waverly doesn't know whether to be hopeful, whether to take the joy emanating off Nicole to mean what she thinks it means. She wonders if they might not be so alone in their fight now.

"Sorry," Nicole replies, a little breathless from emotion more than exertion, "shoot I'm sorry for that, if I freaked you out. I just couldn't let - " Nicole breaks off, blinking hard in the way she does when she is trying to clear her head. "Waverly, this is Jeremy," she says, gesturing at the man standing patiently beside her.

Waverly looks at him and he tips her a cheery wave and a big, genuine smile that is as impish as it is winning and warm. He has as sweet face and a demeanour that makes him instantly likeable.

"He was part of my garrison but well, he's a friend," Nicole goes on before addressing him directly. "God I don't think I've ever been so happy to see you.”

Jeremy's smile grows even wider.

"Right back at you," he says, before holding his hand out for Waverly to shake. She takes it, some of his and Nicole's happiness drifting over her own skin like it is physically radiating outwards. She knows how hard it had been for Nicole to lose her friends, to never know what happened to them.

Waverly feels her heart swelling for Nicole, even if she cannot truly imagine how this moment must feel.

This is perhaps the most fortuitous thing that has happened to them in weeks, and Waverly takes it as a good omen.

"Jeremy this is Waverly, she's..." but Nicole has to break off there, and Waverly knows that there is no easy way to describe their relationship. In the end, Nicole settles for 'friend' but, probably unintentionally, says it in a way that has Jeremy casting a suspicious glance between them.

Waverly cannot say she blames him.

Nicole calls her 'a friend' like the words are too big for her mouth, like _‘friend_ ’ is a poor facsimile of what really lies in both their hearts. Kiss or no kiss, they have shared too much - even before the mummy was resurrected - to have a satisfactory label for who they are to each other anymore.

Jeremy, to his credit, says nothing, but he does shake Waverly's hand and turn his cheeky smile onto her.

"Are you busy?" Nicole asks Jeremy, who shakes his head quickly. "Can you stop? Come eat with us maybe? We have a lot to talk about."

"Nicole, of course," Jeremy says with such sincerity it even makes Waverly, who cannot help but feel slightly like an  intruder on this moment, smile.

They take a slower walk back and very few words pass between them, partly because Nicole and Jeremy are savouring the moment but also because they are working out where to begin.

When the little cafe is in sight, Nicole starts to speak again and her voice shakes in a way that makes Waverly long to take her hand.

"Jeremy, I have to ask - are you here on your own? What about the others, what about Dolls? Is he - "

Nicole cannot speak further it seems, and she breaks off with a shudder.

Jeremy regards her solemnly for a moment before answering.

"We lost the others, still don't know where they are," he tells her mournfully and Nicole hisses.

"But...'we'?" she asks, a tiny glimmer of hope still there somewhere behind her eyes and Waverly finds herself holding her breath.

In spite of the sadness of it all, Jeremy cannot help but let another small smile crack across his face.

"Me and Dolls, we made it out together."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Their food is sat on the table waiting for them when they get back and a terse-looking Wynonna springs out of her chair when she sees them.

“What the hell you guys?” she asks loudly, attracting the attention of most of the other diners.

Acutely aware of all the eyes on their table, Waverly gently hushes her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, going for placatory and hoping Wynonna gets the hint.

She does, but her fear is stronger and she is in no mood to be quietened.  

“The owner said you both just took off,” Wynonna goes on, full of bluster. “I couldn’t work out if we’d been caught or if you two just had some weird, spontaneous need for some alone time.”

Nicole sends Wynonna an unimpressed look but holds her tongue. She drifts to a nearby table to ask for their spare chair.

Behind them, Jeremy dawdles; aware of his place as newcomer.

“Please, like I would ever go without you,” Waverly says with a scoff, but she follows up with a serious, open look too - just incase.

Electing to ignore Wynonna’s second comment, Waverly instead brings everyone’s attention to Jeremy with a small gesture.

“Nicole saw...someone she recognised and rushed to catch him up. This is Jeremy, and I’m probably the worst person to introduce him since we’ve only just met.”

 

 

 

 

 

The library workstations are almost forgotten for the moment as the group shares their food with Jeremy while he and Nicole swap stories of the desert.

It turns out that Jeremy’s escape story does not vary vastly from Nicole’s - but realistically there are only a very limited number of outcomes when you are stranded in the _sahara_.

He lost Nicole amongst the ruins at Hamunaptra and, the city being what it is, Waverly wouldn’t mind betting that something supernatural had kept them from teaming up again.

Jeremy did, however, find someone called Dolls. Between the two of them, they used the same good training, sheer grit and determination, and dumb luck as Nicole herself had relied upon to reach safety.

Unlike Nicole, however, they had made an extended pit stop at Luxor. Where Nicole had made for the embassy, her friends had sought initial refuge in the nearby army base, intending to head for Cairo immediately after but never making it that far.

“You know what Black Badge is like,” Jeremy says directly to Nicole. “Even after everything that happened, they weren’t exactly keen to let us just up and leave for the embassy. They were hardly clamouring to go out and find any other survivors, either. ”

“Collateral,” Nicole mutters darkly and Jeremy nods.

“We looked for you for ages, obviously we did, but…” Jeremy adds with a guilty look, struggling to meet Nicole’s eye.

Nicole quickly shakes her head. “No. Don’t even think it. You had no idea where to start and, Jeremy, I _wanted_ you to leave. After I couldn’t find you I just kept praying it was because you had saved yourselves. I didn’t give up hope, not really, but...I suppose I did start to worry that I’d never see you again.”

“I always had this little scene in my head where you got out, but I felt the same,” Jeremy admits. “Not Dolls though, he was certain the whole time that you were okay. I think partly he was in denial - but don’t tell him I said that. Even when Lucardo was about to close your file as KIA, he made her switch to ‘missing’. He told her in no uncertain terms not to underestimate you.”

This makes Nicole smile, her whole face beaming with pride.

Absurdly, Waverly feels a similar little glow. She does not feel that it is entirely her place yet, but it pleases her to know that others have such well-placed faith in Nicole.

“He’s gonna be so happy to see you,” Jeremy goes on. “I mean, he won’t show it obviously. But he’ll be over the moon.”

The smile immediately fades from Nicole’s face.

“Yeah. About that,” she begins, drawing her words out. “I wouldn’t get ahead of yourself. There _might_ be something else I need to tell you and Dolls.”

 

 

 

 

Deputy Marshall Xavier Dolls possessed the air of a man you simply did not mess with, the air of a man who was diligent, competent, driven, and damn good at what he did (whatever that actually _was_ \- Waverly still had no information on this thing called ‘Black Badge’).

Jeremy was right when he inferred that Dolls would be subdued in his reaction to Nicole, but, even as a relative stranger to them all, no one can miss how his proud, handsome features soften when Jeremy sets up a grand entrance for her.

But then he takes in the whole disheveled group, and Nicole has to explain how they managed to unleash the curse of a revenge-bent mummy onto, well, the whole world.

The Deputy Marshall’s reaction is initially so quiet, so inwardly directed, that Waverly thinks this must be the moment before detonation.

But Dolls only stares in solemn, thoughtful silence from one member of the group to the next, Nicole’s words still ringing around the room. He blinks once before sitting down at his desk and punching an extension number into his superset phone.

On loudspeaker, a woman’s voice pierces the room, her tone loud and officious:

“This better be good Dolls, I specifically told you not to interrupt me.”

Silently, Dolls rests his forehead on the upturned heels of his hands, his elbows on the desk.

“We found Haught, Lucardo. Well, she found us. Trust me, you’re going to want to hear this.”

There is a pause down the line that is so laden it is practically tangible.

“I’ll be down shortly,” the voice replies crisply before hanging up the phone with a _clack_.

Slowly raising his head back up, Dolls looks Nicole squarely in the face.

“I think I liked you better when you were lost in the desert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo how did i do??!! waverly and nicole got soooo close to getting together, didn't they? i'm so sorry for torturing you guys. if only there was [eyes emoji] more development [eyes emoji x1000] next chapter...
> 
> okay now i'm just being mean. well, mean _er_. 
> 
> but lots of people have asked after dolls and jeremy, so i hope you're happy to see them again. reuniting them was a bit difficult because there's no point of reference in the film, so i just went with a bit of a flukey moment - it's a bit silly and cliche but i just loved the idea of providence bringing them back together. 
> 
> oookay...time for a few of my usual boring ol rambly notes:
> 
>   * aside from reuniting nicole with jeremy and dolls, one of the hardest things in recent chapters has been working out how the characters are going to learn all the info that people in the movie just mystically already seem to know. but with the au there is no ardeth bay character obviously (the idea of shoehorning that in made me lowkey uncomf on a few different levels) and i didn't want it all just to come through the curator character as in the movie. so there are no handy secondary characters to sort solve the problem for the heroes. only bobo (and therefore by extension to a veeery limited degree doc, levi etc) knew about the mummy/curse in any depth. so basically i hope my middle ground solution is okay/makes sense/doesn't feel too very contrived. this is the very definition of 'i tried...'
>   * i'll still never be quite sure why the movie chose to call the mummy _imhotep_. i suppose on the level that he was a real person in history and did work for a king it makes sense but also...idk, make up names people!! i say, after using the same name in my fic. basically i just wanted to keep this part of the plot recognisable and attributable to the original. but my history graduate ass wants to point out that the real _imhotep_ worked in service of a real pharaoh named _djoser_. if memory serves _djoser_ was a very early king, the third dynasty i think (or mid-2000s bc if that helps more), which was during what is called the old kingdom. (fun? fact: this the period ppl call an 'age of pyramids' or similar bc it's when all the pyramid designs get perfected and the pyramids at giza are built). by the time _djoser_ is in power upper and lower egypt have been unified into one country for a good ol while, but it's still in the process of becoming this cultural, historical, etc. powerhouse (keep in mind the dynasty before was like,,,preeetty turbulent, or so it is thought). so anyway, _djoser_ is best known for this step pyramid (exactly what it sounds like) at a place called saqqara which is in the north of egypt (annoyingly this is the part that was called 'lower egypt') kind of a bit south from cairo (20?ish? miles). and, it is generally agreed that the real _imhotep_ played a huge role in designing that pyramid!! one of the first known important pyramids! granted, nothing survives from pharaonic records that actually confirms that but it seems p likely to be the case. so it does kind of suck that culturally ppl probably know the name more as a movie villain when he was clearly quite a cool dude. he was so cool, in fact, that some communities, esp in thebes, literally mythologised him. they started thinking of him as a healer (even though he likely stuck to architecture/engineering - he started using stone columns and other sensible shit like that) and started even associating him with thoth, who honestly has a TON of cool associations in mythology so i'd recommend looking him up. anyway this point is getting way too long i'm so sorry for the history lesson (i'm not really sorry) 
>   * sidenote: how many harry potter references really is too many? asking for...waverly.
> 

> 
> aaaanyway after rambling for too long on historical things, i'm going to sidle away now. please do let me know what you think, your reviews always make me feel so incredible and i'm so appreciative of you all for leaving comments and kudos. also, if anyone wants to help support my other writing ventures, my poetry instagram is @holinguespoetry so if you want to check it out i'd be beyond honoured.
> 
> thank you @ anja for reading this chapter and deeming it "not too gay". (it may be even more so next time). 
> 
> everyone please take care, see you next time!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you could say it's way [fire emoji x5] in this chapter! this is just fluff, fluff, and more gratuitous fluff
> 
> oh...and some kind of bad news, bad stuff, scary mummy happenings...blink and you'll miss it type stuff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! today /is/ a happy monday for me bc i only have one more day before a long weekend. i hope your weeks are already shaping up as nicely. again, i really don't have a lot to say about this chapter, i'm just sooo excited to share it with you!!

Standing under the steely gaze of Agent Lucardo must be akin to a sparrow staring down a halk. Waverly waits for the inevitable strike, for the flash of cruel talons and a sharp beak.

Unlike Dolls and Jeremy, Lucardo - who does not deign to offer her forename - takes in Nicole with a cool difference that is as impressive as it is chilling.

It is obvious that their working relationship had been distant and Waverly wonders if they have ever even met before. Even so, Lucardo’s muted reaction still seems strange.

Waverly would have assumed that there would have been some joy and relief in finding a once-lost employee alive and mostly well. This does not, however, seem to be Lucardo’s style.

Upon being told, in summary form, about the curse, she simply surveys them all with a well-practised look of disdain. She holds the expression in silence for the perfect amount of time and when she speaks she addresses only Dolls.  

“I would have thought the directive was simple, even for you. Don’t let anyone wake the mummy.”

Lucardo speaks terrifyingly softly; the calm before the storm. Dolls seems to want to reply but resists, and Waverly thinks she sees him biting the inside of his cheek.

The injustice of Lucardo blaming Dolls is enough to spark up Waverly’s indignance. She knows that poking a sleeping dragon is risky, but she can’t seem to help herself.

“It wasn’t _his_ fault.”

Lucardo’s arsenal is an impressive one; on top of pregnant pauses and ruthless looks she is also skilled at feigning complete indifference. She looks straight through Waverly and, somehow, the rebuttal stings.

Instead, she turns to Jeremy. “Agent Chetri, will you fetch our guest please?”

There is a question in her voice, but there is no doubt that this is an order. Without missing a beat, Jeremy hurries to the door; he is evidently glad to be leaving the room and the atmosphere trapped within it.

Lucardo waits a moment before finally acknowledging Waverly. She heaves an impatient sigh, as if Waverly is a wasp that cannot work out how to get out of an open window.

“And you are?”

Waverly squares her shoulders in brazen defiance before introducing herself and Lucardo remains impressive.

“Well Ms Earp, suffice it to say that I will hold _my_ agents accountable as I see fit. After all, I highly doubt that we’d be in this mess if you hadn’t been directed to the city in the first place.”

The blow at Nicole hits home immediately, and it touches a raw nerve. The pain response is instantaneous.

Nicole has withstood a lot, Waverly has been a witness to it, but this attack on her time in the desert is too much.

“Perhaps if I hadn’t been left for dead in the desert with no intel then you wouldn’t need to shift the blame,” she snaps, her temper visibly on a very short thread.

Waverly tamps down the urge to step in and back Nicole up. This is not her battle.

“It was never about the guerrillas, was it?” Nicole asks, voice hollow as though she is only just having the realisation. “It was always about Hamunaptra.”

She looks as though she wants to cry or to punch something, or perhaps do both. Instead, she turns to Dolls who is still sat at his desk.

“How long did you know?”

“I worked it out once we got out,” he says quickly, his face begging Nicole to believe him. “And once - ”

He falters but Lucardo has no problem with stepping in.

“Once I told him,” she says bluntly, her face hard. “I wanted to know if those guerrillas got anywhere near it. We had to know it remained undisturbed. Which, of course, it did - until now.”

She throws a look at Waverly, one so cold that it would have sent a lesser woman hurtling out the door.

“You left me to die,” Nicole says, still sounding utterly defeated. “You left me to rot in the desert.”

Even facing Nicole’s pain, Lucardo still says nothing. If she feels any guilt whatsoever then it is impossible to tell.

“What kind of organisation _is_ this?” Wynonna asks suddenly. She looks from Lucard to Dolls and back again, her top lip curling in disgust.   

Something dangerous flashes on Lucardo’s face, but before any verbal altercations can break out, Jeremy re-enters the room behind them.

“This organisation, Ms Earp, is all you have if you want to survive,” Lucardo tells Wynonna, eyes tracking to the door. On instinct, everyone turns to see who has arrived with Jeremy.

Waverly feels her draw drop.

“ _You?_ ”

Feeling incredulous, both she and Wynonna sputter the word in unison.

Standing before them and wearing a smile that looks more like a grimace is Mr Elmasry, the museum curator.

“It would rather appear so, yes,” he says distastefully, walking slowly past the assembled crowd to speak to Lucardo.

Waverly has never even seen him outside of the museum before and she cannot quite believe that he is here now.

“I’m going to assume they found the city,” he says bluntly and Lucardo narrows her eyes.

“ _Yes._ ”

“And that they woke the creature.”

“Yes.”

It is at this point that proceedings become too much for Wynonna.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” she says hotly, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m not having this. We have dealt with boat fires and the slowest passenger trains ever built. I have _personally_ camped with too many people in too small a tent for longer than I have ever wanted to camp in the first place.

“We have dealt with Bobo Del _fucking_ Rey and his merry band of assholes day in, day out for what genuinely feels like a year. I have been sunburnt more in recent weeks than I have been in all of my life, and i have got sand near-permanently embedded in places I won’t even begin to mention. And now? Now? There is some obsessive, undead stalker ex-boyfriend type on our asses so you will excuse me if _this_ ,” she pauses and scowls at the curator “is breaking point for me.

“I am sick and tired of knowing half the story. _We_ are the ones in mortal danger here, so will you please just cut the crap and talk to us? Starting with what the hell you are doing here, maybe?”

Mr Elmasry gives a humourless laugh that is more like a hacking cough, although it is still the first time Waverly has ever heard him laugh at all.

“I did warn you about going out there,” he says sourly and Wynonna’s eyes flash.

“Yeah you weren’t exactly comprehensive.”

“I didn’t _exactly_ think you’d make it there alive.”

Wynonna goes through a very visible battle to keep her emotions in check.

“If even _one_ more person tells me ‘I told you so’ after giving one half-assed warning then so help me god you will not want to know what comes next.”

Wisely, Mr Elmasry yields.

“I am part of a secret society which has been sworn since ancient times to stop this, this _creature_ from rising. Some of this,” he points around the room to illustrate Black Badge, “organisation’s founding fathers were once a part of the very same society. My father was a part of it, and my father’s father, but thanks to you we have all failed to continue what our ancestors started.”

He flashes a pointed look at Waverly and Wynonna.

“Yes, _all_ of our ancestors.”

“What are you saying?” Wynonna asks sharply, although they both already know the answer.

“It might not be in your family archives but Wyatt Earp _did_ find that city. And just like you, he came back to Cairo ready to tell the world about his triumph. But unlike you, he refrained when we told him what evil lay in wait there.”

Wynonna makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat.

“Yes, and _unlike him_ we were not told anything. The only person who even _tried_ to tell us was Nicole. If anyone had even bothered to say ‘hey, guys! Scary death-city with undead demon mummy. Do not go out there. Especially do not read aloud from any books’ then I think there’s a strong chance we wouldn’t have gone.”

“Maybe not but Bobo would have,” Doc interjects carefully and Waverly almost starts. She had all but forgotten that he was there. “Bobo was heading out there with one goal in mind. All that these ladies did was force him to play his hand while he was still collecting cards.”

Beside him, Rosita gives a forceful nod. “Bobo isn’t ready to handle the mummy yet, he’ll probably slow him down. And we’re all here, aren’t we? We asked for help as soon as we could - I don’t know what more you want.”

Waverly blinks, slightly blindsided by this fierce show of support from two people who owe them nothing. It is the first time that Waverly entertains the idea that, perhaps, Wynonna and Nicole weren’t just sparing her feelings. Maybe this shitshow is not entirely her fault.

After all, Bobo’s aim was always to bring _Imhotep_ back, even if no one quite knows why he had chosen to do so.

“They’re right,” Dolls agrees gently. “We couldn’t stop it forever.”

Lucardo, however, is not swept along in this tide of solidarity.

 _"Perhaps_ ,” she says icily, sounding unconvinced and unimpressed. “Either way, those of you who opened that crate certainly need all the help you can get. But I suppose you’re in a better state than your friend downstairs.”

She is referring to Carl, who had been sent straight to the small on-site medical bay.

Levi visibly shudders. “So how do we stop the rest of us ending up the same way?”

“We’ve made a start on going through research,” Waverly adds, jumping in quickly. “We can work together - there has to be something we can do.”

Waverly feels the first stirrings of hope as she looks around at the people standing beside her. It is like they are all rallying themselves, each of them squaring their shoulders in preparation.

Then, Lucardo opens her mouth and the good feeling flies out the door.  

“You’ve all done more than enough already. You can tell us what you know and we’ll take it from there.”

Waverly feels something hot run under skin - no way are they being shut out like that. She goes to argue as Nicole sends her a pointed look.

_Don’t bother._

Waverly raises her eyebrows in disdain and Nicole’s eyes soften.

_Trust me?_

Waverly sends her a tiny nod and changes tack immediately.

_Of course I do._

“There’s not that much else to say,” she says, her immediate acquiescence surprising Wynonna who had missed the look on Nicole’s face. “I found Carl after, you know.”

She breaks off and shudders at the memory of empty, bloodied eye sockets.

“The mummy was confused, he called _Anck-Su-Namun_.” She adds an exaggerated shrug. “That’s it.”

This must be pretty unconvincing, given how recently she had just mentioned further research, but her mention of the Queen distracts everyone for a moment.

“You don’t - he wouldn’t try to resurrect her again, would he?” Jeremy asks, looking nervous.

“He was cursed for his love,” Mr Elmasy muses aloud as he fixes Waverly with an owlish expression. “And he still thinks of her, even after three thousand years. I think that is exactly what he would try to do.”

“And what has that got to do with me?” Waverly asks, referring to the curator’s unwavering stare.

It is Dolls, however, who answers.

“Only _Imhotep_ got the _Hom-Dai_ ,” he says as he rises from his desk and starts to pace. “The Queen’s soul has been in the underworld for thousands of years, her body mummified. If _Imhotep_ knew that - and I’m pretty sure being a skeleton is a big clue - then he’d know that he was the only one who could regenerate stronger than before.”

“Stronger?” Wynonna asks and Dolls gives a grim nod.

Mr Elmasry nods at Dolls. “Yes. Yes you’re right.”

Waverly glances wildly about the room and, judging by the confused looks that meet her, she is not the only one feeling lost.

“He will need a new way to resurrect her this time,” the curator clarifies. “He will need a human sacrifice.”

He looks at Waverly again, and it feels like a physical blow.

“Well,” she says, feeling shell-shocked, “that’s definitely where I was hoping this would go.”

Wide-eyed, Wynonna exhales in one puff of shock.

“Bad luck, babygirl.”

 

 

 

 

 

Worst news of Waverly’s life notwithstanding, Lucardo makes good on the threat to exclude them from further action.

The men take this news especially badly, given that their lives have been put in the hands of a group of churlish, secretive strangers.

They all stalk off to Carl’s bedside, excepting Doc who immediately paces off on his own, and Rosita who states that she needs some peace and quiet to think.  

Waverly, Nicole, and Wynonna are always happiest together and they head to a sterile-looking mess room where they take up a small corner table. Dinner service is just ending when they arrive and although they are given something to eat, they only pick at their food as they talk. Suddenly, fresh food doesn’t seem quite so exciting to Waverly anymore.

The place is almost deserted, but they still keep their voices hushed.

“I just don’t understand why they don’t want all hands on deck,” Waverly whispers.

“This wouldn’t be the first time Lucardo’s cut her own nose off if it means teaching someone a lesson in the process,” Nicole explains, pushing a clod of rice around its little tray segment. “Apparently she wasn’t always like this, but…”

“We’re not just rolling over though, right?” Wynonna asks quickly.

“Yeah - please say that’s what you were trying to tell me back there,” Waverly adds, trying to stay hopeful.

Nicole manages a small but genuine smile when she learns that Waverly had understood her.

She makes a show of saying _no_ and _of course not you guys_ , before nodding her head and leaning in.

“Obviously, yes,” she whispers, “but Black Badge will have locked us out their systems and will be keeping tabs at all times. Of course, they won’t waste resources on absolute maximum security, so Jeremy should be working on getting us online now. It’ll take time hence why I’ve brought us here.” Nicole looks intensely at each sister individually.

“Don’t trust anyone else except Jeremy and Dolls, okay? They’re good people.”

Waverly nods, trying to force herself to go back to her salad portion. She needs to eat, but her stomach keeps churning at the thought of what _Imhotep_ is planning.

“Understood,” Wynonna says quietly. If she sounds calm she is belied by the way she bobs her foot under the table. “At least _Imhotep_ makes Champ look like marriage material now, hey?” she adds, trying for humour as per.

“You’re going to give yourself a foot cramp,” Waverly observes coldly, and the movement stops immediately. Normally, she appreciates the humour but right now she cannot find it within her to laugh.

Nicole looks between the two of them.

“Should I ask?”

Waverly cannot blame her for having no context, but she almost wants to kick someone under the table. She is not in the mood for this.

“No,” she insists, right as Wynonna says,

“Her jerk of an ex-boyfriend.”

This time, Waverly does launch a kick at Wynonna and this less than subtle indicator confirms Nicole’s suspicion that this is entirely the wrong discussion. She keeps quiet, regarding Waverly with her head tilted slightly to one side.

Waverly has had a tension headache building since learning that an undead priest wants to use her body for his dead lover’s soul (not a problem she’d ever envisaged tackling) and, under the intensity of both her companions' silent, sad gazes, she suddenly decides that she needs to sleep.

In a last minute act of charity, Black Badge had offered up a couple of empty dorms for their use.

It must only be about a seven o’clock, but time has long since lost any meaning. She rises from the table in a motion that is far too sudden and she sends her reusable plastic fork clattering to the floor.

Her tone is wild as she announces that she wants to rest before they go back to work, and she does her best to ignore the worried look that passes between Wynonna and Nicole.

Nicole rises with much more decorum, her expression so gentle that Waverly wants to cry.

“I think that’s a good idea. I was here for desert training,” she pulls a face, the irony not lost on her. “I’ll show you where the rooms are. In fact, I might turn in myself. I’ll be told once we’re - y’know - good to go.”

“Thanks,” Waverly replies absently, already heading towards the door as soon as standing still becomes unbearable.

Nicole, however, pauses and looks at Wynonna who immediately shakes her head.

“Nope, not me. I’m too wound up to sleep. I need a drink - lucky we still have some left, right?”

Nicole smiles.

“Sure.”

“Switch with me, yeah? I want Waves to sleep and I’ll only wake her up coming in.” Wynonna fishes a key out of her back pocket. “I won’t disturb anyone in _your_ digs,” she adds with a sarcastic chuckle.  

Being an agent, Nicole had been given a smaller, single occupancy dorm in direct opposition to Waverly and Wynonna’s no-frills twin room. She wonders if that was supposed to make up for all the time in the desert.

Nicole hesitates and Wynonna _tsks_.

“You really want to go check in with my sister? When we’ve been sharing a tent for weeks? She’s not gonna care, Nicole.”

“She wants to be alone right now. We’re all worried about her, okay? The best thing we can do is make sure we’re _all_ on top of our game.”

Wynonna just pulls a face and rattles her key.

“Fine,” Nicole says with a sigh, too tired to argue. They make the trade and Nicole turns to leave before hesitating.

“Just don’t drink too much and get yourself thrown out.”

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not.”

They both know, however, that Nicole is not joking and she hovers in silent indecision for a final moment. It is clear Wynonna is spiralling too, but she cannot look after both sisters at once.

Wynonna rolls her eyes.

“ _Nicole, go_. We both know you’re going to choose Waverly. You should - it’s alright.”

“But – ”

“I’m fine, seriously. We Earps are tough.”

“Like I don’t already know that,” Nicole says with a snort.

“That’s the Haught I want to see right now,” Wynonna says pointedly.

“Noted, and I’m grateful you didn’t say ‘Haught shot’ this time.”

They laugh, but Nicole cannot resist giving Wynonna one final, worried look before turning away.

 

 

 

 

 

Wynonna watches Nicole’s retreating back and shakes her head to herself.

She had thought Waverly carried the weight of the world, but Nicole told an Atlas tale all of her own.

Still, she cannot deny that it is nice to have someone else on their side for once. Granted, it had been her and Waverly against the world for so long that initially it felt a bit weird adding another personality into the mix. But Nicole had been good for the both of them - Waverly in particular - and Wynonna enjoys knowing that there is someone else out there looking out for her sister.

She can admit that she is bad at sticking in one place, and it would be nice to know that Waverly has someone else around.

(Assuming, of course, that the idiots could get their act together).

Waverly had never been as subtle as she thought, and it was glaringly obvious that she had been into Nicole since day one. The hearts in her eyes were disgusting and her softly-softly approach was equal parts endearing and frustrating. Still, Wynonna can appreciate that throwing a cursed mummy into the mix is a bit of a first date buzzkill.

The threat feels like it is everywhere at once now, and the fear is all-consuming. It had been bad enough knowing that he was after other people and might catch the three of them in the crossfire.

Now that Waverly might be a target, Wynonna feels half-blind with panic; her stomach has been turning over for hours.

Of course, the creeper will have to kill Wynonna and probably Nicole to even get close to Waverly, but Wynonna cannot say the thought gives her much hope. She would do absolutely anything for her little sister, would die for her in a heartbeat, but she does not stand a chance against _Imhotep_.

As soon as Nicole leaves, Wynonna fishes her whiskey from her bag and pairs her worries with a fair measure of hard booze.

 _There must_ , she thinks eventually, _be even one not-awful course of action_.

But she only wonders, over and over, if she can either cajole or even trick Waverly onto the next plane out of the country. Wynonna is pretty sure that, if things get as dire as she imagines they will, Nicole would even champion such a plan.

She thinks the plan over as she surreptitiously fills up her plastic tumbler with whiskey. She is lost to her fears, failing to notice that she is not alone until a voice behind her makes her leap for her - well, Nicole’s - gun.

“I won’t tell anyone you’re drinking on a dry base if you share?”

Xavier Dolls sees the weapon and sticks his hands up, looking frustratingly amused and unconcerned.

“ _Woah_ , no need to shoot.”

Wynonna dumps the gun heavily on the table.

“You do know I have a dead guy after me, right?”

“You’ll have two on your back if you shoot first, ask questions later.”

Dolls chuckles as he swings a leg over the metal bench-seat, sitting in Nicole’s old space. So much of the decor here is laughably stereotypical - total military minimalism.

Wynonna swallows an overlarge gulp of her drink and fights around a grimace when it burns the back of her throat.

“Let’s just say I’m feeling on edge.”

“I don’t blame you,” Dolls says, tone turning sympathetic.

“So why are you blagging drinks off cute strangers instead of working on saving my sister?” she asks, taking the bottle out of her bag and holding it an arm’s length away from him.

Dolls smirks at Wynonna’s choice of words but otherwise ignores them entirely.

“Lucardo and your guy are making some calls. Jeremy is pretty busy running a bunch of tests on a canopic jar when he’s not breaking protocol by getting round our online security for you guys.”

Dolls keeps his cool air as he busts their plan, evidently checking for a reaction.

Wynonna watches him cautiously, staring him down and giving nothing away.

Impressed, Dolls dips his head after an appropriate pause.

“You can buy my silence on it, if you want.”

Satisfied, Wynonna pours more whiskey into her own glass before handing the bottle over.

“By the way, the curator’s not our guy,” she tells Dolls firmly and he flashes her a questioning look. “He had every opportunity to help us. Instead he just sat by for the oh-so charitable reason that he thought we’d die in the desert. He’s only helping to clear his own name and your stupid creepy society’s name to boot.”

She kicks petulantly at the leg of the table, enjoying the satisfying clang of her steel toe-cap meeting the cheap aluminium.

“Is it possible he’s pissed about the revived killer mummy too?” Dolls asks with a playful half-grin which makes Wynonna rolls her eyes.

“To-may-to, to-mah-to, _Deputy Marshall_.”

Her response causes Dolls’ smile to deepen into a smirk and Wynonna kind of hates how nice it looks on his face.

They sit in silence for a while, Dolls drinking sparingly and Wynonna making up the difference. As she fills up her tumbler again, she teases him about falling behind.

Pointedly, he checks his phone. “I’m on duty.”

“So should you be drinking at all?”

“Definitely not,” he concedes, expression giving nothing away.

“And here I was, taking you as a stickler for the rules.”

“Oh, I am,” he says, raising his eyebrow and making a point to take a swig from the bottle.

This makes Wynonna smile - _really_ smile - for the first time all evening, and she suddenly understands why he is here. No wonder he and Nicole get on; they obviously share the same ‘no man left behind’ _modus operandi_.

Nicole had probably even asked him to check in.

It should annoy Wynonna but she is actually pretty glad of the company. As long as she is waiting around, she might as well enjoy herself.

Fear is only metaphorically blinding her - she still has eyes, after all.

“So you’re a _boring_ type-a rule follower,” she says and it is Dolls’ turn to roll his eyes, clearly amused. “But…?” Wynonna prompts, looking for an explanation.

“But,” he replies with a sigh, “it’s been one _hell_ of a day.”

“Just a day?” Wynonna asks and quirks a brow. “Lucky you.”

“Oh sure Earp, go ahead and one-up me.”

“With _pleasure_.”

She throws what she hopes is a relatively smouldering look over her tumbler. She has honest-to-God reusable bags under her eyes, she still hasn’t showered yet, and she definitely hasn’t shaved in weeks, but she is Wynonna Earp and she has _wiles_ , goddamn.

That is, until she drinks agai and promptly sprays the liquid back out of her mouth in a cloud of moisture. She would feel bad for Dolls if he hadn’t done exactly the same thing.

“Holy shit,” she splutters, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and longing for anything that might get that unexpectedly sweet, metallic taste out of her mouth. “That tasted just like…”

“Blood,” Dolls finishes for her, holding the bottle up close to his face in scrutiny.

The liquor is already dark, and it is hard to perceive any change in its colour until Dolls tilts the bottle and, sure enough, the liquid is a dark, sickening shade of red where is thins against the glass.

“The rivers and waters of Egypt ran red,” Dolls recites absently, “and were as blood.”

“What is that, biblical?” Wynonna jokes, before realisation hits her. “Oh shit, the plagues…”

They share a momentary look of horror.

Dolls flies from his seat and hurtles towards the door, throwing a look over his shoulder.

“Earp, come on. We need to move - now.”

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly hates to admit it, but there is something undeniably awkward between her and Nicole as they try to share a dorm.

It seems impossible after all that time in the tent, but the increased space of a whole room seems to only form a chasm between them as they attempt to move around each other.

Nicole seems to feel it too and she apologises continuously for the change in arrangements.

“Wynonna never sticks to a plan,” Waverly says. She intends it as a joke but somehow manages to come across curt and short-tempered.

Nicole laughs weakly anyway but a look of guilt still flashes across her whole face, as though she is sure she is unwelcome here. The thought makes Waverly's skin itch.

Try as they might, they cannot seem to fill a room in the same way they filled a tent - there is no more desert magic to settle like satin over every situation. All that open space had made everything seem so unreal.

For the very first time, Waverly wonders if their connection had been only a mirage too.

They had all been different people in Hamunaptra. They had a purpose in the city, something to drive them on and lift their spirits. There had been something buoyant, something liberating, in their simple lives. They had been masters of their own days, governed only by the light of the sun.

The outside world could not encroach as it does now, even Bobo’s men had been easy to ignore.

Here though, they have more space but they still bump into each other by the ensuite door. Nicole apologises yet again.

They never used to obstruct each other when they were camping.

“It’s fine,” Waverly insists, although she is clearly anything but fine. She wants everything back to how it was between them. It is incomprehensible that less than twenty-four hours ago they were on the train, having _that_ conversation.

“I know you wanted to be alone,” Nicole adds, voice small and lost and slightly wet around the edges.

 _If we only had a proper chance to_ talk _about things,_  Waverly thinks. Clasped hands underneath a flimsy library desk were simply not enough.

There is something between them - Waverly must believe it is still present tense - and Waverly cannot allow it to slip through their fingers.  

“It’s not that I don’t want you here Nicole - quite the opposite.”

Nicole brightens slightly, and Waverly’s chest constricts to see her there in the anemic lamplight. She looks so open and unwound, so very vulnerable in just her boxer briefs and a baggy Black Badge tee with her surname on the back.

(They have nothing else to wear - almost everything else has made a much needed trip to the laundry room).

When Nicole speaks her voice comes out as a whisper, as though her words are getting stuck in her throat.

“Talk to me Waves.”

Waverly takes her time before responding, but still words do not come easily

“I don’t know what to say, I don’t even know what to do with myself. I’m scared and yes, I know, withdrawing. It’s practically textbook.”

Waverly hears her voice rising in frustration as she speaks, but is powerless to stop her tone escalating. She is sure Nicole must think the anger is directed at her.

Waverly cuts herself off before she can do any more damage and walks towards the tiny twin beds, sitting heavily at the foot of the nearest one. She stares blankly at the wall opposite, trying to get her emotions in check.

“See? That’s what I didn’t want to happen, that’s why I thought I should be alone. I didn’t want to lash out.” Waverly’s voice gives a worrying wobble as she tries to speak. “Especially not at you.”

There is barely a foot separating the beds and, without hesitation, Nicole sits on the spare. She perches on the long end nearest Waverly, who staunchly refuses to turn her head.

Undeterred, Nicole continues to look at the side of Waverly’s face.

Nicole sticks her long legs outwards, feet bare on the gloomy carpet. Pale hair glints in the light, and Nicole looks as beautiful as ever.

Throughout this whole experience, they have always seen each other at their most raw and real - no bells or whistles attached. And despite their trial by fire, Waverly cannot fathom how her body could find room for _more_ than she already feels.

But then Nicole looks at her with those soft, dark eyes and Waverly falls further.

“You are allowed to feel scared,” Nicole says and her gentle voice shakes. “I know I do.”

She drops her guard then, lets Waverly see a little of the fear running beneath her cool exterior.

And for as much as Waverly knows she has fallen for Nicole, she knows that Nicole is tumbling through midair too. They are on the same trajectory, and Waverly is more grateful than she can say that Nicole is still here with her.

“Just because I’m scared doesn’t mean I can scream at you. Especially when you just carry on being nice to me.”

Nicole chuckles. “You know, don’t take this the wrong way but I think you’ve been hanging out with a lot of shitheads.”

“Is it that obvious?” Waverly asks, still not meeting Nicole’s eye.

“No,” she lies. “You’re fine, I promise.”

For some strange reason, Waverly feels the urge to explain Wynonna’s earlier comment about Champ, but Nicole cuts her off at the first opportunity.

“The way I see it, we’re here together _now._ It doesn’t really matter to me what came before, unless you actually want to talk about it.”

Waverly shakes her head emphatically.

“Not really, no.”

“How about later then, yeah?” Nicole smiles so widely that the corners of her eyes crinkle. “Because I really do want to know everything I can about you, Waverly Earp. Anything you want to share. _When_ this is over - if...if you’ll have me?”

Waverly cannot quite believe that Nicole still thinks that there is any other option. Her heart races and her body thrums with a feeling she has never experienced before. It is almost like she is being reminded that she is still alive; the mummy has not caught them yet.

Something in the back of Waverly’s mind sparks up, making her aware that this is one of _those_ moments; the kind that carries you through the worst of times. It is one of the few moments in which life is truly lived and - mummy or not - she wants to reach out with both hands and claim it.

This is not a dress rehearsal, it is not even a pleasant dream. It is her life.

There is only one thing to do; the only option is to give in to that magnetic pull, the one that has been bringing them together since day one.

Waverly crosses the gap between the beds perhaps a little too enthusiastically and her momentum sends an unsuspecting Nicole backwards with a tiny _oof_. Somehow she manages to hold herself up on her elbows, keeping them both upright and sparing Waverly’s blushes somewhat.

Waverly can feel her heart hammering in her chest and wonders if Nicole’s is beating just the same. She cannot say what gave her the courage to finally act, only that Nicole has always made her believe she is capable of anything. Courage comes to Nicole as naturally as breathing, and Waverly has always thought it was contagious.

It is all well and good for them to agree to _after this is over_ or _not while we’re running,_  but Waverly knows that she will want this, will want Nicole, just as much if - when - they get out of this situation.

She cannot waste another moment waiting to be brave.

But bravery mingles somehow with pure terror when she kisses Nicole for the first time, perhaps a little too forcefully as her momentum sends their lips crushing together.   

Nicole continues holding them both up on her elbows and Waverly slips one hand clumsily down to the hard mattress, trying to help in some small way.

She would be embarrassed by the way she fumbles, but then Nicole recovers herself from the shock and kisses back and there is no room left in Waverly’s body to feel anything else at all. The sensation is overwhelming; it is all consuming.

Waverly finds herself somehow in Nicole’s lap and their bare legs tangle together.

It is not the first time Waverly has lost herself in wonder at the strong muscles beneath the soft skin of Nicole’s thighs, but it is the first time she has been in quite so direct contact with them. Having one of her legs anchored between Nicole’s is, in fact, a whole new level of sensory experience.

Feeling the heat of Nicole’s body against her when they are pressed flush together is overwhelming like this instead of in slumber. It is different when Nicole’s mouth is warm and wet against Waverly’s.

Nicole kisses her back like she had been on a precipice this entire time, just barely holding on.

 _She is good at this,_  Waverly realises without much surprise, revelling in the way Nicole meets her with just the right amount of pressure. Nicole gently draws Waverly’s bottom lip under her front teeth and Waverly practically buckles inwards at the sensation.

Her reaction makes Nicole smile and disturb the pace, and Waverly uses the momentary distraction to press her tongue outwards and _taste_.

It is Nicole’s turn to react now, and she moans as Waverly traces her free hand against Nicole’s lovely jaw - so strong and regal and even more beautiful beneath Waverly’s fingers.

They both taste of toothpaste, and they smell of the base’s generic shower gel from their earlier separate ablutions. The scent is soapy and non-specific, but it will always be one of Waverly’s favourites from now on; it is tied intrinsically to this moment.

It takes Waverly a moment to realise that Nicole must be uncomfortable, still propped on her elbows and holding both of them up. She draws back for a moment, lips tingly and delightfully wet as she tries to catch her wayward, heavy breathing.

Nicole gives out a little gasp when they separate and it can only be described as adorable. It makes Waverly smile.

“Are you…” Nicole begins, looking suddenly unsure of herself.

“I just thought you might be uncomfortable,” Waverly says quickly, hurrying to reassure Nicole. She never wants to see that look on Nicole’s face when it comes to Waverly. Happily, the insecurity falls away from Nicole instantly and she grins.

“A little, yeah,” she admits as she tries to shrug. “Worth it though.”

Waverly cannot help but laugh, and it feels impossible that barely an hour ago she had been so desperate to seclude herself from everyone, Nicole included.

She lets Nicole get comfortable, sprawling out on her side and making sure to leave a slice of the bed free. She does not explicitly say that the space is for Waverly, only props her head up in her hand and watches, but the thought of heading to her own empty bed feels unpalatable to Waverly now.

If they part now, it will be the first night that Waverly sleeps without Nicole spooned or squeezed against her in one of many increasingly familiar ways.

It is strange, really, how wrong it would feel now. Waverly had always been one to value her sleep and, importantly, her bed space. After losing everything to the Nile, one of her first concerns had been their sleeping arrangements; she had been sullen at the thought of too little sleep in too small a space. Then, she had surprised herself by adapting quickly and now she surprises herself further by choosing another hot, cramped night with Nicole over a peaceful sleep in a bed of her own.

Nicole watches as Waverly looks at the space on the bed.

“You’re not going to kick me out of bed then?” Waverly tries for funny, but cannot keep a shy edge from her voice.

Nicole just laughs, beckoning at Waverly by crooking a single finger. Her expression shifts and smoulders, and Waverly’s heart starts racing again.  

“Never,” Nicole says, finally answering the question as Waverly wriggles around to find a vaguely comfortable position. “Not even for stealing my covers,” she adds, gently kissing the tip of Waverly’s nose.

“It happened _one time_ ,” Waverly protests, still kind of embarrassed at the memory of waking up with all of Nicole’s makeshift bedcovers (spare clothes) over her. “And I said, like, a hundred sorrys. Now that’s a ratio.”

Still making a show of being embarrassed, she burrows further into Nicole with over-exaggerated movements that make Nicole laugh and squirm.

Nicole’s reaction causes Waverly to stop in her tracks as a revelation hits her.

“Oh my God,” she says, voice weighty with the realisation. Experimentally, she gives another wriggle and, again, Nicole squirms.

“ _Waverly,_ don’t you dare.”

“Oh my God please,” Waverly repeats. “Please, please, please tell me you’re ticklish.”

She dives for Nicole, fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt and against Nicole’s skin. The result is instantaneous: Nicole’s body stiffens and her hands fly out to try and pull Waverly away.

“Waverly no,” she manages to grit out, voice low as she fails to be stern, plagued as she is with insuppressible laughter.  “Jesus, how are your hands cold even in here?”

Waverly refuses to stop - zero mercy rules allowed.

“More importantly, how have I spent every day with you and not realised that you, Nicole Haught, police officer-slash-army _hero_ , have such a fun weakness?”

Nicole snorts at Waverly’s choice of the word ‘hero’ before retorting.

“Fun for who?” she tries to ask, but her voice disintegrates into a high, breathy cry when Waverly finds a particularly sensitive spot. The sound hits Waverly somewhere in the pit of her stomach and she shivers in a way that has nothing whatsoever to do with cold hands.

“For me mainly, but I’ll see what I can do to make the experience more pleasurable for you too.”

Waverly still has her face pressed against Nicole, so she rakes her teeth lightly down the spot where Nicole’s throat meets her collar and it elicits _that_ sound again.  

The moment is only marginally ruined when Waverly tickles again and Nicole has a literal knee-jerk reaction somewhere in the region of Waverly’s stomach. It does not hurt but Waverly’s flinch response has kind of been on high alert, and she jerks back on instinct.

“That’s gotta be a foul!” she protests, laughing.

“Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry!” Nicole says in horror, touching Waverly’s belly in immediate and genuine concern.

Feeling silly and giggly and blissfully uninhibited, Waverly draws back to look at Nicole and feigns grave injury.

Understanding that Waverly is not hurt, Nicole plays along. She splays her long, long fingers out for a moment before dipping a hand to the hem of Waverly’s shirt. Her eyes search for permission and Waverly grants it with a smile, words momentarily unnecessary.

Nicole gently pushes Waverly’s shirt up a few inches and surprises Waverly when she shifts their positions. She gently urges Waverly onto her back while Nicole sits herself up, slinging one leg over Waverly’s thighs. She leans forward to place a kiss on Waverly’s stomach, right on the spot where her knee had made glancing contact.

Waverly knows when she has been played, but they both feel like winners as Nicole kisses her again and again, and the muscles in Waverly’s abdomen quiver pleasantly in response.

Nicole nudges Waverly’s shirt higher and higher with her nose, occasionally pausing to drag her tongue along Waverly’s lower ribs.

Just as Waverly begins to wonder where their ‘first night’ boundaries really are, Nicole stops with Waverly’s shirt bunched up to her chest. She drops a final, sharp kiss just below Waverly’s sternum that is not strong enough to bruise but enough to draw an unexpected moan from Waverly. Nicole soothes the spot with her tongue before dragging herself back up towards the pillows.

She spends a few more moments peppering little stardust kisses on Waverly’s throat and cheeks and forehead before huffing out a contented sigh and dropping unceremoniously into the little space available.

She switches their positions from earlier, nuzzling against Waverly’s neck and breathing deeply.

Waverly feels as though there is an electric current beneath her skin, but she also feels the pull of something softer too. She feels cosy and content and finally _safe_ as she presses their legs together and feels Nicole drape an arm against her midriff. Waverly fails to stifle a loud yawn.

"Mmhm. Same,” Nicole mumbles against her before dropping a final kiss to Waverly’s shoulder over her shirt and relaxing into that downy-soft space before sleep.

Although Nicole has nightmares and times when sleep evades her entirely, Waverly also knows that when Nicole sleeps, she _sleeps_. It is part for the course in her line of work, but Nicole can switch off quickly if she wants to and, curled around Waverly, sleep seems to come to her more easily than ever. It makes Waverly’s heart swell and, feeling as though she is floating, she drifts off just as quickly.

For the first time in a while, they rest.

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly wakes blearily, to the sensation of Nicole extricating herself from the embrace. She is distorted and senses that she has not slept long.

“Nicole?”

She feels Nicole card a hand affectionately through her hair.

“Ssh baby, go back to sleep,” she says, pressing a quick kiss against Waverly’s lips.

“What’re you doing?” Waverly mumbles, groaning as the bed grows cool too quickly.

“Sorry, gotta pee. Won’t be a sec,” Nicole whispers and, with her eyes squeezed shut, Waverly hears her pad off to the bathroom. (It feels novel to have one of those.)

Waverly dozes and waits for Nicole to return and, after a sleepy moment of indiscernible length, Waverly senses her standing by the bed. She lingers for a moment and Waverly wriggles around.

“What are you doing?” she asks again when Nicole makes no move to rejoin her. “Didn’t I leave enough space?”

“Sorry Waves, did you just say something?” Nicole’s distant voice calls out in response and Waverly feels her blood run cold. She realises two things at once: firstly, the bathroom door never reopened and secondly, the room is starting to smell of death. That unpleasantly sweet smell has haunted her since their departure from Hamunaptra.

Opening her eyes is almost like the opposite of waking from a nightmare as Waverly finds _Imhotep’s_ face hovering just above her own.

There is a tiny gap in the curtains and the big floodlights from the courtyard below had been casting parts of the room in a harsh white glow since sundown. It is stronger than the weak flashlights they had been using to study the mummy at Hamunaptra, and she can see him perhaps more clearly than ever before.

While he piques a treacherous sort of morbid fascination in Waverly, he is now much too close for comfort.

He looks different, somehow more complete. She can see fewer bones or blackened organs and realises after a moment that they are hidden now beneath thin patches of new, pinkish skin. If anything, this is more terrifying because he is now more identifiably human. It makes him look hungry, predatory even, as he looks down at her.

He leans closer and at least now his impulse to kiss her makes sense, but before he can get any closer Waverly finds herself screaming. The sound brings Nicole hurtling out of the bathroom, her hair a mess from the pillow and her tired eyes like saucers as she makes sense of the scene in front of her.

Ever the officer, she had possessed the presence of mind to leave a couple of guns in arm’s reach, and launches herself towards the nearest weapon.

“Get your ugly face away from her,” she growls, readying the gun.

Nicole won’t shoot until Waverly gets herself to safety and she uses the momentary diversion to put some distance between herself and the mummy. She gets behind Nicole and grabs a gun of her own as Nicole fires a round at the creature.

They know it is useless, but it is all they have to keep him at bay.

“Waverly, run!” Nicole shouts over the echoes of gunfire. “I’m right behind you, I swear.”

Full of unconditional trust by now, Waverly wrenches the door open and blinks against the strong automatic lights in the corridor. Nicole is as good as her word, throwing herself out of the dorm and slamming the door shut.

“Something tells me he doesn’t use doors,” Waverly says, watching in horror as sand seeps through the cracks between door and frame.

Not for the first time, Nicole reaches for Waverly’s hand and tugs.

“Come on, we have to get you out of here,” she says as she starts to run. She is faster than Waverly and practically drags her along.

Waverly daren’t look over her shoulder and simply lets Nicole lead them through the labyrinth of uniform corridors. She wings off a little prayer for Wynonna’s safety (not that she is a believer, but it is never too late to start. After all, the afterlife clearly exists.)

“You know what?” she calls breathlessly to Nicole.

“What?”

“I’m _so_ goddamn sick of running from danger in my...my... _shitting_ pyjamas,” she says, fumbling for an expletive and mixing the wrong two entirely.

Nicole laughs, more at the blunder than anything else, and Waverly warns her not to comment.

“I got your back Waverly,” she says, and she notices for the first time that Nicole has a bag with her once more. Yet again, Waverly marvels at Nicole - this time in regards to her preparedness.  

They finally make it out of the accommodation bay and find the base in total chaos.

However he got in, _Imhotep_ has clearly been here a long time. A number of people are running from place to place amidst the signs of struggle, and in the confusion they bump into a terrified-looking man in a janitor’s uniform.

“Something escaped from downstairs,” he tells them in Arabic, fear and confusion making his eyes hazy. “It went to the medical bay, it drained the life from one of the patients, Lord have mercy on all of us.”

Without another word, he runs on, too scared to be fully aware of himself or his surroundings.

Nicole and Waverly look at each other in shared understanding: the mummy had come for Stupid Carl.

“Nicole! Waverly!” Jeremy bursts out into the corridor from a side door, his relief practically palpable when he sees them. “I thought he might have come for you.”

“He did,” Nicole tells him, her grip on Waverly’s hand tightening. “We need to get her out of here, now.”

Jeremy opens his hand to reveal a set of car keys, dangling them on his pointer finger from the split ring.

“Oh, I am way ahead of you right now,” he says, flinching as a roar echoes from somewhere nearby. “And I suggest we get going straight away.” He pauses, eyes darting between Nicole and Waverly. “If that’s even possible for _any_ of us,” he adds as an afterthought.

Another roar, closer this time, makes the room vibrate and generates a fresh round of screams.

“Good one,” Nicole says, “but maybe not the time.”

“Timing never was my strong suit. Come on, the garage is this way.”

They both start to move but Waverly holds Nicole back.

“I can’t, not without Wynonna,” Waverly insists, not missing the shifty look that passes over Nicole’s face.

“Wynonna’s fine, but you’re not going to be if we don’t leave now,” Nicole protests, but Waverly silently refuses to leave until Nicole goes on. “She’s with Dolls, I asked him to check in on her - I didn’t want either of you to be alone with what we’re all going through.” 

In that moment, Waverly cannot decide if she should be affronted that Nicole thinks they need babysitting. Regardless, she knows that the thought came from a truly good place because, well, Nicole cares.

“She’s in good hands, I promise.” Nicole presses on, “And she’d want you to get out. As soon as we actually know where we’re heading, I’ll get in touch with Dolls. They’ll join us, okay?”

“Um, guys?” Jeremy interjects and more screams - human, this time - rise up from nearby. “I really, like _really_ really, don’t want to die right now. Can we do this in the car?”

With a final look at Nicole, Waverly acquiesces and allows herself to be lead down multiple concrete stairwells, losing count after about the third set. For the first time, she starts to appreciate how huge this place is, how deep this organisation runs.

Eventually they emerge into a huge underground parking lot, filled with countless sleek black cars from sedans to SUVs. They take one of the latter kind, Jeremy happily relinquishing the keys and jumping in the back so that Nicole can drive. Waverly rides shotgun, still wrestling into her seatbelt as Nicole sticks the car in reverse and revs out of the parking space.

Waverly does her best to keep her heart from beating out of her chest as they pull away. Being separated from Wynonna for the first time throughout this entire debacle feels wrong.

She feels frustration course through her because she simply cannot seem to catch a break. One nice, gentle night’s sleep with Nicole had apparently been too much to ask and now she has to leave her sister behind.

She knows how well Wynonna can handle herself and is heartened slightly by Nicole’s faith in Dolls, but none of this is much help as they pelt away from Wynonna. All Waverly can feel is a growing sense of fear and dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo...things could go /that/ smoothly could they?! but now the stakes are even higher!! there's not that much to go now, and i'm so, so grateful to everyone who is reading this fic! it still kind of amazes me that anyone wants to read this dumb adventure but i really did put a whole lot of work/time into this and it's such a privilege that you guys are reading it! i've also been pretty blown away by all the lovely comments recently, and i wish i could express just how happy i feel when i see i have a new review. it really puts the biggest smile on my face and makes my day. so, as ever, thank you all SO much!! 
> 
> i don't think there's really any additional info needed in terms of history or general notes, only that i wanted to hark back to their canon first kiss slightly and i hope i did okay. oh, and i'm never going to stop writing ticklish nicole!! other than that, if i have missed something out please feel free to let me know. and again, i would just love to hear how you guys think i handled hooking our favourite girls up in the end. it's always an exciting moment to write, and a bit nervewracking to share. i hope i did it justice!!
> 
> i'll be back as normal next monday, until then please look after yourselves!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> um...i'm sorry?? in my defence, there are some pretty fun jokes in this one though...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i have a serious case of the monday blues. my long weekend away is over, i had to go straight back to work today, i miss my friends, and my leg is really really itchy (healing w-earp/wayhaught tattoos _are_ worth it. they are they are they are...if i say it enough i'll start believing it!!!)
> 
> okay, so in honesty i wrote this part of the note whilst waiting at the airport yesterday but i still stand by it now. (plus, with hindsight i can also say that i fell off my bike again this morning and my puppy might be sick...so it really isn't going well)
> 
> as such and importantly, the only thing i get to be really excited about today is updating my fic. i'm afraid this is a bit of a filler chapter just to move it along to the final few acts (sadly? maybe? _i'm_ certainly sad bc writing this fic has been a lot of fun when i haven't been stressing about my writing). also if you know the mummy then you know what has to happen at some point and i am sorry to tell you that this is the point. but at least jeremy is here to provide some light relief for a little while. he's just doing his best. 
> 
> i just want to add another note of thanks to everyone who has been leaving reviews. you guys have told me some seriously nice things and i can't quite wrap my head around the idea that i deserve any of those wonderful comments on this silly, silly adventure fic but i'm so happy and honoured that you're reading and even more so that your comments tell me you're enjoying it.
> 
> big thanks to anja who not only managed to endure a whole weekend with me but also found time to read through the chapter before we checked out of our room. ilysm. 
> 
> okay, that's everything i think -- see you on the other side!!

The SUV’s tires screech as they race around the garage, up and up towards ground level.

“I have questions,” Waverly says quietly, trying to keep her voice even. “Lots of questions.”

“Of course,” comes Nicole’s gentle reply, although her eyes stay fixed ahead of her as she corners them deftly around each bend. Of course, on top of everything else, she handles the car like a damn stunt driver.

Waverly watches Nicole’s face for a moment, aware that she is probably running on autopilot right now.

Still, Waverly would rather speak than bear any kind of awful silence.

“That man, the janitor, he thought the mummy had escaped from somewhere in the building. What the hell is that all about?”

Nicole glances at Jeremy in the drivers’ mirror. “I think you’re better placed to answer this one.”

Waverly cranes round just as Jeremy sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I feel like I don’t have time to do this properly,” he begins, sounding tired. “Black Badge was started with the purpose of investigating any happenings that were... _unexplained_. It goes back about as long as you Earps and your treasure-hunting - ”

“Archaeology,” Waverly corrects on instinct. “Sorry - conditioned response.”

“S’fine,” Jeremy says, unperturbed. “There is probably no one below Lucardo’s pay grade who knows more about Black Badge than their own immediate sub-team, and we’re all kept separate from each other. So it’s hard to know exactly what’s going on at any one time. But we deal with anything unexplained - some people would say supernatural. And sure, that means UFOs and fake Bigfoot sightings, but it also means the stuff that _does_ exist on our planet, stuff like this mummy. Sometimes, stuff gets brought to the lab,” he admits, looking awkward.

“For testing?” Waverly asks, shocked on a surface level but not particularly surprised deep down where logic comes into play.

“Sometimes?” Jeremy shrugs. “Containment, mostly. Stuff down there kills, just like _Imhotep_. We’re trying to keep them out of civilians’ paths.”

Waverly bites her lip, trying to find a way to justify this all - at least for the time being. She drops the subject, asking another question that has been playing on her mind for a while.

“Why would you want to work for someone that keeps so many secrets, even from you?”

It is a genuine query and Waverly does not mean it to sound critical, but it comes out that way anyway.

“I told you Waves,” Nicole pipes up quietly, “that’s not how they sell it to you. Maybe we were naive but it is how it is.”

Jeremy hums an agreement. “They lied to us from the start, you know.”

“I’m not judging,” Waverly tells them quickly, throwing an apologetic look at Nicole who does not meet her eye. “Just trying to understand, I guess.”

“We’d get it if you were judging,” Jeremy says, sounding abashed. “But once you’re in you don’t just walk out. You can’t.”

The atmosphere around them grows uncomfortable.

“What about Carl?” Waverly asks, desperate to stop digging a hole for herself. Jeremy and Nicole helped her to escape, and probably extended her borrowed time substantially, and all she is managing to do is come across as ungrateful.

“Is he…?” This topic of conversation is hardly much better, and Waverly does not really want to say the word, but things are awkward enough now without making it worse. “Is - did _Imhotep_ kill him?”

“I mean, it depends how you specifically define ‘kill’,” Jeremy tells her, his choice of phrasing making Waverly’s blood run cold.

“Our understanding, which has kind of been reinforced now, is that to regenerate, _Imhotep_ has to actually use the life force of others - it’s all part of the curse. Of course, draining someone dry does also kind of tend to leave them dead. It’s just...it’s kind of more complicated than him simply killing someone,” he tries to explain as he fails to suppress a pronounced shudder. “And it’s gross. That’s why I wanted to go into tech - no blood and guts.”

Awful as Carl was to her, the news hits Waverly square in the chest. Sure, he probably needed a good scare - something to teach him a lesson about hurting others. But what he went through was on a different level, and while he wouldn’t exactly leave a hole in her life, he didn’t deserve to die that way either.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Nicole butts in, voice contrite, “but does anyone have any bright ideas on where we’re actually heading? Aside from a different land mass, of course,” she adds, testing the water.

“We have to end this,” Waverly says firmly, jaw set. “ _I’m_ going to end this, or I’ll die trying.”

“Waverly - ” Nicole tries, not liking that outcome. Waverly, however, ignores her.

“I need to go back to that library - we need those books and we need my research.”

“Not to be a killjoy but it’s nearly one in the morning,” Jeremy points out, causing Waverly to throw and incredulous look at him over her shoulder.

“Aren't you guys agents? Like, you’re basically spies?”

“Actually we're not - ”

“And what, you can't break me into one little library?”

“It's actually a fairly big library,” Nicole points out reasonably, and Waverly is about to argue when she realises that Nicole is teasing. Some of the tension has left her shoulders, either because of the growing distance between themselves and the mummy, or because of the subject change in the car. Either way, seeing Nicole her usual collected self makes Waverly relax slightly.

“He can disable all the security, yeah,” Nicole adds and Jeremy gives a cry of protest which Nicole ignores, “and I can pick a lock in a pinch, so let's hope there's a side door.”

On the backseat, Jeremy grumbles quietly to himself.

“Oh sure, never heard that before. Do you know how _hard_ it is to -? Of course the tech guy can just _disable_ the alarm, oh yeah I’d _love_ to check your hard drive. I totally have time…”

Beside Waverly, Nicole laughs silently to herself, eyes brimming with friendly affection.

“Ignore him, he’ll actually enjoy having an excuse to make a fuss,” she whispers.

 

 

 

 

 

They are in luck, if anything about their current circumstances can be described in such a way, and they manage to find a side door to the library. Nicole is able to jimmy it open with much more ease than navigating the modern co-tag doors, and Jeremy is able to pretty swiftly disable any alarm systems from there. If any security cameras catch them, they will have to beg for forgiveness later.

If they survive to be reprimanded in the first place, that is.

They just about make it inside before the universe adds insult to injury and starts raining fire on them.

This is literal fire - giant boulder-like balls of the stuff begin pouring down from the sky without reprieve.

“What...the _hell_?” Jeremy cries, throwing himself inside behind Nicole and Waverly. He hurriedly dusts a few burning embers from the sleeve of his shirt. “Can this honestly get any worse?”

“Probably,” Nicole mumbles, looking shocked.

Jeremy throws a bewildered look between Nicole and Waverly, who can only stare skywards in horror.

“It’s one of the plagues,” Nicole explains as Waverly still gapes in silence. “We had the locusts, now we’ve got the fire.”

Waverly surveys the sky as best she can, flames burned into her retinas, and tries to work out if there are any visible stars behind the carpet of orange.

“We might even have the darkness but we won’t know until morning, or until this stops.”

“Come on,” Nicole says, coming back to her senses and shutting the door. “He must be getting even stronger - we have to get moving.”

Like Nicole, Jeremy had had the presence of mind to load up the car with some tools and devices of his own, so he still has an open link with Black Badge, although the signal isn’t the best. They navigate through the library via flashlight, eventually finding their way back to the room they had used before. Unsurprisingly their books have all been cleared away, but it won’t take much to find them again.  

While they once again wait for the ancient computers to load up, Nicole and Waverly dress in the only set of clothes that hadn’t been sent to the laundry room, resignedly accepting another day in dirty shirts and shorts.

They return to an announcement from Jeremy that brings rather mixed tidings.

“I’ve managed to speak to Dolls. He and Wynonna are safe - well, as safe as they can be what with the sky fire and all. They’ll get here when they can. The army base has been checked and the mummy is gone; he must be on his way here,” Jeremy says, looking nervous. “Oh, and they already had the delights of the blood plague, so be careful if you go to drink anything.”

Nicole wrinkles her nose. “Gross.”

“Yeah well, try being vegetarian right now,” Jeremy says with a sigh.

“I eat a burger sometimes, I’m not a vampire,” Nicole points out and Jeremy shrugs like it is much of a muchness to him.

Trying her best to ignore their bickering and the thunder of fiery hail just outside the window, Waverly sets to work, ploughing through her online records.

After a few moments of hovering nervously, Nicole excuses herself.

“Where are you going?” Waverly asks urgently, not keen on the idea of the group splitting up any more than they already have. “We need all hands on deck.”

“Jeremy will be more use than I will here. I’m better off doing a sweep of the building. I know _you-know-who_ has means of entry that are a bit...sandy and unconventional, but I’d rather barricade what I can now,” she pauses, letting her eyes linger on Waverly for a protracted moment. “I won’t be long, okay?” she tells her, voice weighty with a promise.

Waverly watches her leave, but Nicole pauses on her way out of the door.

“Black Badge got me teched up again. If you want me, just call okay?”

“Okay,” Waverly mutters, trying to think of anything but the close coil of anxiety in her belly that only winds itself tighter at the image of Nicole prowling a dark library without backup. “And Nicole? Be careful okay? Please.”

Nicole nods grimly. “Always Waves.”

 

 

 

 

 

In all of Waverly’s short life, time has never passed her by so quickly.

An hour flies past and the storm outside does not abate. If anything the hail of fire only gets worse.

They do not hear from Nicole, and all Waverly can do is assume that no news is good news. In her own case, however, the opposite is true.

She finds nothing; no references to a priest called _Imhotep_ , no information on the _Hom-Dai_ curse that she doesn’t already know. After another hopeful lead goes cold, Waverly slams a book shut in tearful frustration, taking satisfaction in the way the sound gives an ugly reverberation around the room.

“Take a break,” Jeremy advises gently, not looking up from his tablet.

“Yeah, I don’t think we exactly have time for that,” Waverly snaps, regretting it immediately.

“You’re not going to find a solution like that,” he points out sagely. “Just take a breath, even a minute or two.” He pauses, thinking to himself. “Not that I’m exactly a font of good advice on anxiety tactics,” he adds, a sheepish smile playing on his lips.

“You sound like Nicole,” Waverly tells him quietly, sitting back in her chair and stretching her neck. “Well, the first bit.”

“That’s no bad thing.”

“No,” Waverly agrees. “No it’s not.”

“You know what’s weird?” Jeremy asks suddenly.

“What?”

“Just over twelve hours ago I didn’t even know for sure there _was_ a mummy. I mean I also didn’t have my friend back then either, so you win some and you lose some I guess,” he jokes. “Today’s kind of taken a turn. Or two.”

“I’m so sorry, Jeremy. I’ve dragged you into this too,” Waverly says, swiping bitterly at a tear that escapes down her cheek.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” he replies, although he does not quite sound as nonchalant as he probably intended. “Black Badge left me in the desert to die. It’s not my worst weekday evening.”

Waverly gives a watery chuckle; it is hard not to warm to Jeremy.

“Better,” he says in response to her laughter, flashing a sweet smile. He waves the tablet at her. “Ready to get back to it?”

Waverly steels herself. “Ready.”

There are very few digital folders left in Waverly’s arsenal so, out of sheer desperation, she does a keyword search for _Hamunaptra_ in the folder marked _Earp family records_. It is mostly comprised of scans and notes of old diaries, letters, and other documents pertaining to her family. Most of the references to the city are old and completely speculatory - notes kept by past Earps with a fervent belief that the city either did or did not exist. None of them ever found it and, if the records are anything to go by, few ever actually looked for it in the first place. As such, her ancestors prove to be pretty much useless and, all told, it is not the first time that the Earp family name has let her down.

The final file (search match: weak), is a string of letters between her father and her late uncle, Curtis. Waverly is ashamed to admit that she had never fully read them, only digitised them after she helped Gus clean out the house following Curtis’ untimely death.

(Waverly does not like to think about the number of untimely deaths the family has seen recently - Willa, their father, their uncle - and how she might be about to increase that number if _Imhotep_ catches up with her).

She is aware that she must have skimmed the letters enough to tag in some keywords, but she has no recollection of doing so. Still, it is not news to Waverly that, even after their mother had left them, her maternal aunt and uncle stayed in touch with Ward. Mostly, the letters feature Curtis or Gus asking after their extant nieces’ wellbeings. It would seem that they wasted a great deal of paper and ink inferring that the constant to-ing and fro-ing between Egypt and their native Canada was not providing enough stability for the girls. Ward was slow to take advice from anyone, and completely impervious to outside opinions when it came to his daughters.

Everything Gus or Curtis said would have fallen on deaf ears.

As Waverly skims through, the only match for _Hamunaptra_ that she finds is an update from Ward, mindlessly filling a few pages to placate his ex-wife’s family. He tells Gus and Curtis, amongst other things, that Waverly had managed to go exploring through his office and had unearthed some old diaries written by Wyatt himself.

 _Most of all she was fascinated with the story of_ Hamunaptra, Ward writes. _I tried to explain that, unlike myself, most people believe it is just that - a fairy story. But of course, she already has her own theories about how it might conceivably be real._

He goes on to list a few, which Waverly dimly remembers talking about as a child. It shocks her deeply to read her father’s words. He had been so unattentive in person - she would have sworn blind he had never listened to a word she said.

 _That’s certainly some impressive thinking_ , Curtis writes back. _Not least when one considers that her twelfth birthday is right around the corner. You’ll notice that we included some money for her and Wynonna’s special days. Please ensure they have something they’ll enjoy from us…_

Waverly is forced to blink away a few tears as she reads - she had always loved Curtis so dearly, and he had always adored his nieces back with a sense of fierce protectiveness her father had never, seemingly, possessed.

It is entirely possible, too, that this protectiveness extended beyond the grave, because the next few lines of Curtis’ letter cause Waverly to gasp so audibly that Jeremy starts.

“What is it?” he asks urgently, rushing to her side as Waverly reads. Impatiently, she shushes him so she can concentrate.

 _Referring again to_ Hamunaptra _for a moment_ , Curtis adds, _I believe there is some merit in what young Waverly says about the Gold Book and the Black Book forming a pair. It seems likely to me that -_ **_if_ ** _they exist - then they would act in opposition. Whatever the Black Book could do might be undone by the Gold Book and vice versa. I refer, only, to something your Uncle Edwin once wrote of course, but it certainly has me thinking…_

Before Waverly can say anything to Jeremy, however, they hear footsteps outside and draw instinctively closer to one another.

Slowly, the door to the room creaks open and Waverly scrabbles about for the gun Nicole left for her.

Before she can reach it, however, a beam of light reveals that is only Nicole returning from her security mission.

Both Waverly and Jeremy are poised for a fright, however, and they cry out anyway.

Nicole looks disdainful as she shuts and secures the door behind her.

“How is this,” she makes a circling gesture around her face with one finger, “just as terrifying to you as the alternative?”

“Sorry,” Jeremy replies sarcastically, “it's just that I’m shit scared of everything right now.”

Nicole chooses to ignore him.

“Please tell me you guys have had some luck,” she asks instead.

“Actually, I think I might have,” Waverly announces. “Just now, in fact.”

While she does not expect a fanfare she is a little disappointed when Nicole’s face fails to brighten at all.

“That's good,” she says grimly. “Because I’m afraid I come bearing bad news.”

Upon hearing this ominous announcement, both Jeremy and Waverly find themselves absurdly casting their eyes about the room, as if Nicole had let the mummy in with her.

“Not quite yet,” she says, observing their wild glances, “but he must be getting closer.”

“Well, I was always told to get the bad news out of the way first so, hit us,” Jeremy says, words fast and staccato as, Waverly imagines, his heart beats out a raging tattoo. Hers certainly is.

“Of all the plagues you _personally_ wouldn’t want to encounter, which would you say?”

“Well the firstborn thing was pretty horrific,” Jeremy begins, but Waverly thinks she already has an idea of what Nicole might be talking about.

“Boils and sores,” she interjects quietly and Nicole nods.

“And we have a winner. There are a whole lot of people out there, all pretty much out of their minds, covered in them. They’re under _his_ control, desperate to be released from the pain. They’re kind of trying to break into the library right now. So yeah, I’m really in the market for some good news Waves.”

“I feel like it probably doesn’t outweigh the revelation that he now has an army of people who want to get us, but I found something my Uncle Curtis wrote about _Hamunaptra_ in an old letter, and it might be a lead.”

She explains the correspondence while Jeremy and Nicole listen as intently as would be imagined, given that their lives depend on it.

“So do you think,” Nicole begins, mind clearly running fast and connecting the dots, “that if we can find the Gold Book, then there will be a spell to send him back?”

Waverly gives a tiny nod. “I certainly think it’s possible.”

“I feel like we kind of need more than just ‘possible’,” Jeremy points out.

“Yeah, personally speaking I feel like we kind of need a miracle,” Nicole retorts. “But this is more of a lead than we’ve had in, well, ever actually.” She looks to Waverly, gives her one of those looks that makes her feel like her entire soul is on show. “You’re holding back. What do you think, really?”

“I think it’s the best hope we have, and honestly, deep down? I think Curtis was right.”

The letter is still up on Waverly’s computer screen and Nicole joins them at the workstation to read it over Waverly’s shoulder as they mull things over. The hellfire has finally died down, and the noise is gradually being replaced by the sounds of a growing crowd. If they strain their ears they can just about hear the bang of fists beating against the library’s main entrance.

“Funny, it kind of sounds like he got the idea from you,” Nicole observes, biting back a small smile.

Waverly tries to be dismissive, but she does not miss Nicole’s affectionate tone and it makes her feel a little glow in her chest.

“Please. I barely even remember having the discussion with my father. I’m surprised he cared enough to write it down, to be honest.”

Nicole’s eyes go all soft in that way that turns Waverly inside out, but whatever she is about to do or say is interrupted by Jeremy who, at least, has the sense to be a bit more businesslike.

“So, small matter of consideration, do we actually _have_ the gold book?”

“No,” Waverly and Nicole say together.

“Do we know where it is?”

“Not exactly.” This just from Waverly, who turns her attention back to her files and keys in another set of search terms. “I’m sure Edwin Earp wrote something about the books,” she says, tongue between her teeth as she sifts through results.

The all crowd around the monitor, each looking for leads as Waverly slowly scrolls.

Eventually, Nicole cries out.

“Look! There, no, back up slightly.” Nicole directs Waverly with a finger on the screen. “Yeah, there. Might be nothing but I thought I saw...”

Nicole finds the passage and she reads aloud from a collection of Edwin’s personal memoirs.

 _“My own grandfather recalls a conversation with Wyatt_ , _in which they hypothesised at length on the logistical possibility of the lost city_ . _My grandfather passed down to my father, and then my father to me, these stories of Wyatt’s sincere belief that there was no reason that the city_ couldn’t _once have existed. He never ruled it, or the holy books it might house, impossible - impossibility was not in Wyatt’s vocabulary. Further, he believed it logical that if the Golden Book of Amun-Ra was to be found at the feet of the great God Anubis, then the Black Book of the Dead should be buried inside the city’s statue of Horus_.”

Nicole pauses, digesting the information.

“But, didn’t you say that you found the Black Book at the base of Anubis?” Jeremy asks sceptically.

“But it isn’t outside the bounds of possibility though, right?” Nicole asks, eyes lighting up slightly. “We _know_ Wyatt found the city and left the treasure undisturbed. He tells the story but it gets passed down and, between generations, it gets mixed up just slightly- ”

“Someone mixed up where the books are buried,” Waverly fills in, feeling excitement bubble in her chest in spite of the severity of the situation. “So that means that the Gold Book must be back at _Hamunaptra_ , somewhere beneath the statue of Horus.”

“That’s the falcon one, right?” Nicole asks quickly, catching onto Waverly’s buzz.

Waverly feels an affectionate smile of her own grow on her face, endeared by Nicole’s eagerness to demonstrate her knowledge.

“Yes, it is. He’s a son of Osiris.”

“So, just to be clear,” Jeremy begins, prompting Waverly with an unvoiced question. She furrows her brow, not following.

“We have to go back into the desert?” he asks finally, eyes distant and thoughtful. “Back to the city?”

Waverly feels the smile drop from her face. If Nicole had been reluctant to go back, then Jeremy looks downright defeated by the idea.

But then again, the look on Nicole’s face isn’t really much better. Understandably, her expression suggests that she would rather pull her own hair out than return to Hamunaptra for a third time.

Seeing even Nicole look so downtrodden is the final straw for Waverly. Just like that, she feels the last of her energy drain away. She is so, so _tired._

She is tired of dragging people into this mess, tired of putting innocent bystanders in the way of serious harm. She would do anything to keep everyone safe this time, but she simply does not know what can be done.

“This isn’t your mess, Jeremy,” Waverly assures him as she turns to face him where he still stands, right by her side. “You’ve done so much already, I won’t ask you to do any more.”

On her other side, Nicole nods and hums her agreement but Waverly is just as tired of forcing Nicole to relive the horrors of the past.

“That means _both_ of you,” Waverly adds firmly. “I did this, I’ll undo it. No one else is risking their life but me.”

Nicole heaves a small, breathy laugh that contains almost no real sense of mirth.

“Waves, I love your…” she fumbles about for a word, “ _commitment_. And I know you don’t need saving, I mean hell you can probably save us all totally by yourself. But I’m not letting that happen, you don’t have to be alone. Where you go, I’ll go okay? Even if that’s Hamunaptra.”

Waverly wants to argue, but Nicole does not leave any room for discussion. She simply starts gathering their weapons and refuses to meet Waverly’s eye in case it prompts another debate.

There is yet another lump in Waverly’s throat as the full force of Nicole’s speech hits her square in the chest. ‘ _Where you go, I’ll go_ ’, she’d said and all but implied that the path could lead to hell and back. No one has ever said something like that to Waverly before, and she is not quite sure how to react.

“Nicole, I - ”

“Later, yeah?” Nicole asks, and although she still does not look round her voice is full of simple tenderness.

Waverly understands, then, that this was not simple a promise to go barrelling back into the desert together. This is something they will need to revisit later because it was a commitment of a whole other kind, one that almost makes Waverly’s stomach swirl with excitement. It does not quite hit the mark with the threat of death still hanging over them, but all the same it feels big in the best possible way.

Granted, it would probably help matters too if they had that particular conversation in private, although Waverly intends no offence to Jeremy who is, unequivocally, fantastic.

All the same, Waverly still wants to know that she has done everything in her power to keep Nicole safe. Even if it is almost certainly a fruitless endeavour, it is still worth one last, slightly feeble shot.  

“I don’t suppose there’s anything at all I can do to stop you, is there?” she asks gently, and Nicole pauses for the first time.

“There’s about as much likelihood of me sitting this out as there is of us persuading you to leave the country while you still have the chance.”

Even though she is expecting something concrete, Waverly’s heart sinks. There is zero chance of either of them leaving in that case.

“But,” Nicole goes on, turning to Jeremy, “before we head back out to the desert, we’ll drop you somewhere safe. Well, as safe as possible under the circumstances. And hey, the bright side is we don’t have to walk this time!”

Waverly knows Nicole’s attempt at a chipper attitude is completely forced, but she appreciates the effort nonetheless.

Jeremy, however, adds one more surprise into the mix.

He gives a deep, resigned sigh.

“Nah,” he says, sounding like he already knows about some kind of inevitability - some kind of force controlling him - that Nicole and Waverly cannot see. “I’m actually kind of digging this whole _Mystery Inc_. vibe,” he adds and Waverly cannot help but laugh.

In actual fact, Waverly is more than acquainted with the particular force pulling Jeremy along; it is piqued curiosity. Well, that and a healthy dose of loyalty if Waverly's suspicions are correct. She understands the pull to answer difficult questions, even when it is to the detriment of any self-preservation instincts.

“ _Mystery Inc._ , really?” Waverly asks, still chuckling to herself.

“Oh come on, you know it too,” Jeremy replies, a smile spreading out on his face as well. “Solve a mystery, stop a bad guy, save Coolsville?”

He does not look entirely convinced with his own plan and is clearly trying to cajole himself as much as Nicole had done. Waverly thinks that she could try and argue with Jeremy too, but it is obvious at this point that no one wants to be the person who ditches the team.

Nicole seems to feel the same as she laughs at Jeremy’s comment and cuffs him lightly on the shoulder on her way to the door.

“Come on then Scoob,” she teases, “let’s go unmask a villain.”

“Please,” Waverly says with an involuntary shudder as she follows Nicole and Jeremy out the room, “I’m already _far_ too acquainted with what’s going on underneath this guy’s face.”

 

 

 

 

 

They leave in slightly higher spirits than during their arrival, but the mood is short-lived as they realise they have not fully taken into account the desperation of _Imhotep_ ’s new army of unwilling accomplices.

On their way down to the ground they peek out of a window and catch sight of Bobo - furry coat and all - amongst the fray, conspicuously looking like the very picture of good health. It also appears as though he is rather enjoying all the carnage, if the delighted smile on his face is anything to go by.

“He seems to be in pretty high spirits,” Nicole observes bitterly, moving on quickly as though she cannot bear to look any longer.

“That’s probably what you get when you’re the right hand of the devil,” Waverly adds, keeping in step.

“Oh the devil is _totally_ different,” Jeremy observes absently, before clapping a hand over his mouth. “Please can you just - ”

“Honestly, Jeremy?” Waverly says with a sigh, “at this point I don’t even want to know.”

Ignoring them, Nicole mutters, “where _is_ the mummy anyway? I’d much prefer to have him where we can see him.”

“I’d prefer it even more if we never had to see him again,” Waverly points out.

“Have him here, not have him here,” Jeremy adds, “pretty sure this is _Sophie’s Choice_.”

“I thought it was _Scooby Doo_?” Nicole asks playfully over shoulder and Jeremy actually considers this for a moment.

“Yeah it is but like, if _Scooby Doo_ took a turn and got really, really dark.”

 

 

 

 

 

It turns out that the building is pretty much surrounded by locals. They try their luck at almost every possible door (and a few windows), but there is no end to the swathes of people crowded around the library, all of them blinded by pain and desperate for the one thing that will alleviate their suffering: Waverly.

As it is, the people have only been kept outside by Nicole’s efforts to barricade the doors, although Jeremy does discover an unlikely set of interlopers - a hoard of frogs huddled by one of the doors. This is yet another plague to tick off the list.

Eventually, they decide that the safest plan is to break out through the same door they used to enter. The car is parked - or more accurately, abandoned - a few feet away and that route seems to have the fewest potential attackers stationed nearby.

There does not seem to be any logic to the locals’ formation; only desperation to be free of their pain.

Waverly does not think her body can accommodate much more guilt, but still it tries.

Nicole catches the look on Waverly’s face and puts a hand to her shoulder; gripping, steadying, grounding.

“Ready?” she asks gently, and both Waverly and Jeremy nod.

There is little they can do to stop their escape alerting the attention of others, so the main focus is on damage control. They make a brief dash to the abandoned SUV and resume their original formation, Nicole once again at the wheel.

Jeremy gets himself strapped in first, immediately focussed on contacting Dolls with information of the new plan.

Nicole fires up the engine, the noise of which attracts even more attention, but by the time _Imhotep_ ’s other victims have realised what is happening, Nicole has already pulled out onto the road. Without a backwards glance, she speeds off back in the direction they came.

They barely make it around the first bend in the road, however, before the extent of _Imhotep_ ’s plague becomes clear.

The road ahead of them is lined with at least a hundred people, clustered together in a human barricade. Their eyes stare ahead, vacant and unseeing, as countless unsightly blisters weep on each person’s skin.

Given that most of the people in the vicinity are currently under the mummy’s control, the roads are deserted, which at least allows Nicole to slam on the SUV’s brakes and do a wild u-turn. Waverly grips onto the nearest surface for dear life, her knuckles flashing white beneath her skin as she wonders whether to scream or whoop. It is an utterly terrifying moment - and it is admittedly completely exhilarating at the same time.

“Someone please tell me there’s another route” Waverly asks urgently as Nicole continues driving at a frankly reckless speed, now in the opposite direction. The rapid lights flashing past the windows makes Waverly feel queasy.

Nicole glances in her mirror. “I’m not sure. Jeremy?”

“Yeah, I’m trying but the data connection is suh- _low_.”

As she taps feverishly on a spare tablet, Waverly silently agrees and sends a quick prayer of thanks upwards for the ‘work offline’ option.

As they hurtle along in totally the wrong direction, Waverly does her best to search for any more information she can find. As things stand, she has no idea how this concept of a counter spell actually works, assuming it works at all. There are so many questions that she has no real hope of answering until the time comes -

Do they need to be in a certain proximity to the mummy for a reverse incantation to work? Do they need to physically return him to his sarcophagus? What happens to any of his victims once he himself is dead and gone?

The untried, untested nature of this half-baked ‘solution’ might be exciting on one level, but they really do only have one shot to make this all work. To make matters worse, the stakes are climbing with every passing moment.

Waverly keeps her attention fixed squarely on the tablet, trying to focus as the words bounce around with every bump and pothole they hit on the uneven tarmac. Only when Nicole suddenly curses and brakes rapidly enough to give them all whiplash does Waverly bother to glance at the road again.

The sight that meets Waverly makes her swear too, louder and with much more colour than Nicole.

There are more plague victims in front of them now; a countless, swelling hoard of people all standing together like zombies. There seems to be no age limit on _Imhotep_ ’s targets and he seems to have no problem with using the old, the young, and everyone in between as a live barricade against Black Badge’s high-powered SUV.

The crowd sprawls out across the road, curving off to the sides to form a ‘U’ in front of the car and, standing in the centre with Bobo at his side, is the mummy.

Except, it is no longer truly accurate to identify him as such. He has returned closer to his old human form, and Waverly’s heart sinks at the sight. Not only are they trapped, not only is _Imhotep_ more powerful now, but he must have claimed more lives to regenerate further.

Waverly wonders glumly who else he has caught up with and she thinks sadly of Ambrose and Levi, of Doc and of Rosita - not all the most overtly moral of folk perhaps, but perhaps victims of _Imhotep_ now too.

Waverly has no idea if _Imhotep_ can claim the lifeforce of someone who didn’t open the chest, and she keeps a flare of hope in her heart for Rosita. She knows too, that _someone_ must have survived, otherwise the priest would look fully human and it is fair to say that he does not. There are still patches of old, blackened flesh and sinew amongst the newer, softer skin glowing bronze under the streetlights.

Regardless, Waverly realises, people have still died and maybe that is not entirely her fault, but she has made things so much easier for the likes of Bobo and _Imhotep_. She has long believed that it scarcely mattered whether she actually meant any harm to any one.

 _The road to hell, and all that_ , she thinks to herself.

She looks at all the people assembled there with _Imhotep,_ all of them suffering and desperate for release. She looks at Nicole, shaken in the driver’s seat. Waverly cannot look to Jeremy, but she senses his fear nonetheless as they all sit in terse silence in what is effectively a stolen car.

Everyone here is, arguably, in this against their will. Most of them were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everyone, that is, except Waverly.  

 _It will never stop_ , she realises then.

The pain and the murder would just go on and on until _Imhotep_ had what he wanted. He would look forever and he would destroy whatever, or whoever, was in his path.

Until Waverly is held captive, people would continue getting in the way and _he_ would continue hurting them. It does not matter, Waverly decides, if they escape this time. There will inevitably a next time, and there will be a time after that.

 _Imhotep_ will chase them to the ends of the earth and Waverly will always be looking over her shoulder for him.

With these and far too many other thoughts spurring her on, Waverly makes her decision in a few seconds; far too quickly for Nicole to work out where to drive next.

With the motor still running Waverly pushes her door open, unclips her seatbelt, and all but falls out of the SUV and onto the road. Her legs feel like jelly, but somehow she keeps herself upright.

From the car, she hears Jeremy and Nicole shouting at her. She imagines that they are probably urging her back inside, but their words barely register.

Every instinct in her body screams at her to run away but she tamps them down and forces herself closer to _Imhotep_ , step by hesitant step.

Human as he now appears, it is fair to say that he can now wear more discernable facial expressions (in this case, smug satisfaction), along with a strange set of robes that at least somewhat match the kind of clothes he might have worn thousands of years ago. Where he found such things, however, is completely beyond Waverly.

Worried that her legs might actually give out beneath her, Waverly manages one more faltering step forward before Nicole makes it to her side.

She grabs painfully at Waverly’s arm, making to drag her back towards the car.

“What are you doing?” she hisses between gritted teeth, but before Waverly can reply they are both stopped in their tracks at the sound of a weapon’s safety lock clicking off. They both look up at once and find Bobo with a gun gripped almost lazily in his right hand, pointed squarely at Nicole.

“I really wouldn’t if I were you,” Bobo tells Nicole, voice full of false sweetness. “Let her come to us.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Nicole steps in front of Waverly and shields her completely. Waverly feels her heart drop into her stomach at Nicole’s cavalier attitude for her own life.

“You know, it’s funny,” Nicole says, her voice strong and clear and full of all that bravery Waverly has always admired. “I was just thinking that you’d be taking her over my dead body.

Bobo laughs, baring his teeth like a wolf. He looks directly at Waverly.

“I like her,” he announces, still smiling - if one could call it that.

Beside Bobo, _Imhotep_ watches the scene play out with evident disinterest. He seems to have no sense that any of this is absurd, no sense that things have gone too far. It is clear he only has his own goals in mind, and he stands to one side and surveys the people around him like pawns on a chessboard. Indeed, he goes as far as to speak casually over everyone else, cutting Bobo off soundly when they both make to speak again in the same instant.

 _Imhotep_ speaks, again, in his mother tongue but Waverly notices that this time he has subtly altered his speech patterns. Presumably, he has now learned how to communicate with Bobo and by extension with modern students of his own, ancient language.

Although he must know that Waverly can understand, Bobo translates everything with no small amount of enjoyment.

“Come with me, my princess. It is time to you mine forever,” Bobo says as soon as _Imhotep_ pauses.

Stepping out from behind Nicole, Waverly _tsks_ and rolls her eyes. “If you’re going to make a spectacle of this, at least get it right. That idiom translates much better as _‘for all eternity_ ’, you idiot.”

Bobo frowns as he considers this and he has no real argument against Waverly’s point. In a culture where the afterlife meant everything, the two phrases had vastly different implications in the ancient Egyptian language - much more so than in contemporary English. Waverly wasn’t going to let standards slide now; Bobo didn’t get to have attempted world domination _and_ the bastardisation of a perfectly nice language.

He looks like he wants to retort, but _Imhotep_ holds up his hand for silence. After a moment, he stretches the same hand out in a gesture at Waverly and speaks again. This time, however, he jerks his head in Nicole’s direction.

It is clear that Bobo thoroughly enjoys the next translation.

“ _Take my hand and I will spare her life_.”

“Waverly,” Nicole says immediately, her voice low in warning. “Don’t you dare listen to him. He’s lying.”

Waverly says nothing, but knows deep down not to believe _Imhotep_ . She has little reason to believe that her cooperation will inspire any kind of benevolence in the man before her, but he has even less reason to spare Nicole or Jeremy’s lives. She has no faith in the monster within; one that must have been there long before the _Hom-Dai_ curse.

She does, however, have faith in one thing.

Nicole. Always and forever, Nicole.

Very lightly, Waverly reaches out for Nicole and makes contact with her shoulder. Immediately, Nicole jerks closer at the movement, prepared to keep Waverly from making her way closer to her would be captor.

“Listen to me very carefully,” Waverly says quietly. “The statue of Horus will be inside the buried city somewhere and it will probably be smaller than the statue of Anubis where we found the other book. You need time to find the Gold Book; I’m buying you that time.”

“Like hell you are,” Nicole tells her, voice gravelly and suddenly full of an emotion that almost knocks Waverly sideways.

“Nicole, there’s no other way. I know you’re smart enough to have realised that.”

But Nicole evidently does not want to be smart in the moment; she wants to be right. Waverly does not begrudge Nicole her reaction for a single second.

“Waverly, no. I’m not going to let this happen. We’ll have just as much time to get to the city if you’re with us; giving yourself up won’t change that.”

“But _he_ still has to get there and perform the...ritual,” Waverly counters, grimacing at the word. “He isn’t fully regenerated, he’ll still be weaker and slower than he’d like. We can do this, I know it.”

While this is not strictly true, Waverly needs to believe this so that Nicole will believe it too.

“Agreed, but we can do it together.” Nicole is desperate now, it is visible in her eyes, and Waverly’s heart breaks at the sight.

“Nicole, _please_.” Waverly puts as much emotion into Nicole’s name as possible. “I believe in you, and in Wynonna. I know you won’t let him kill me. And you’ll have Jeremy and Dolls too. I’m not afraid.”

Thankfully, her voice does not wobble as she lies because, in actual fact, she is beyond afraid. However, instead of the befuddling, mind-numbing terror of previous days, Waverly feels an almost piercing sense of clarity.

This is the right thing to do. It buys Nicole and Wynonna time and if affords everyone else a modicum of additional safety. Getting them both out of harm’s way is worth whatever might come next.

It is also, Waverly knows, a completely selfish decision.

As if to reinforce this fact, Nicole’s eyes suddenly shine with unshed tears - the first time Waverly has ever seen Nicole lose her cool to this degree.

Nicole huffs out a tearful, mirthless laugh. “ _You_ might not be afraid, but I am. I - ” she pauses, voice unsure and wavering. “I don’t want to lose you Waves,” she admits, a tear or two finally spilling over.

“You won’t,” Waverly assures her and somehow she believes this right down to her toes. She knows that, if anyone can help her make this plan work, it is Nicole and Wynonna, but she also does not want to part like this, putting all that pressure on Nicole’s shoulders.

“Because believe you me,” Waverly goes on, trying her best to keep her voice bright, “if he turns me into a mummy you are the very first person I will be coming after.”

Nicole tries for a more genuine laugh, does her best to stay strong as she reaches out and takes Waverly’s hand. She squeezes tight and Waverly grips back for a moment. She holds Nicole’s gaze as best she can, stealing one last long look before she goes. She knows that the moment she turns away she will not look back.

If this is to be the last time Nicole sees her alive, then Waverly wants Nicole to remember her as brave, calm, and dignified.

So, she turns and walks with her head held high, resolutely staring _Imhotep_ down as she approaches him.

But before she can get more than a few paces away, Waverly hears a sound which shatters the very last of her courage.

Nicole chokes out her name, voice full of angry tears - the kind that Waverly knows burn down your cheeks. The sound Nicole makes is tiny and it is clear that she had done her best to stop herself.

It is this knowledge that finally reduces Waverly to tears of her own. She lets them fall without brushing them away, certain that Nicole should not know she is crying.

And when she finally reaches him, _Imhotep_ looks down at her with an expression completely devoid of any sympathy. Up close he is almost handsome with his smooth, amber complexion and his dark, entrancing eyes. But beneath this mask there is nothing that draws Waverly to him; he has no humanity left inside him. He only cares about Waverly’s usefulness to him, has no sense of her as a person separate to his own needs.

He clutches at her arm with a grip like a vice; it hurts her, but Waverly would rather die than show it. Even accounting for the night air, his skin is unnaturally cool and clammy, and Waverly has to fight the urge to flinch at the sensation.

Impossibly strong, he drags her away from the scene without a second thought. They squeeze between the bodies of _Imhotep_ ’s plague victims and immediately they obscure any view Waverly might have had of Nicole and the SUV. When the priest speaks one final time, Bobo does not bother to translate and Waverly can only hope her responding scream is enough warning.

With a careless wave of his hand, _Imhotep_ commands his army onwards in Nicole and Jeremy’s direction.

 _“Kill them both_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo i'm sorry. but like i say i'm sure many of you knew it was coming...realistically there's only so much variation i can willingly add now, after relatively religiously following the source material for so long...(at least that's the excuse i'm using while i hide!!!) 
> 
> okay so in terms of notes for this one:
> 
> * i spent ages trying to work out how to get the gang to the reveal re the mummy and the golden book. there was no way evy’s moment of reading a random statue was going to work for me, but options felt limited. and honestly? one thing that has really made me feel so happy and just that little bit more confident in my abilities has been the feedback on how waverly and the group have learned about the mummy and his plan vs the movie. ofc the movie is sacred, and imo it all works in that context, but i’m so glad the changes i’ve made for the fic seem to have been well-received. i hope this little bit will be similarly well-received, even if it’s not that exciting/groundbreaking at all. tbh i just wanted waverly to, in a sense, be the one to have the answer in some roundabout way. 
>   
> 
> * i’m doing my best in all my aus to mirror tiny scenes from the canon content as best i can. in chapter 10, waverly sort of throwing herself onto nicole is meant to be a tiny reference to the first kiss on the couch. in this chapter, i wanted the parts with waverly trying to do things on her own, offering herself up to the mummy, and nicole’s ‘i love your commitment’ to be attempts to hark back to season 2 in the show’s own little au episode. i’ll be chucking in a few more vague parallels/references in the next few chapters and i hope i haven’t made them too subtle/predictable/boring/insert other negative here. would love to hear what you guys think!!
>   
> 
> * that thing wave says about the linguistic/idiomatic differences is, to be honest, probably complete bs. i’ve soundly forgotten all my ancient language knowledge and i never knew it that well to begin with. i just love the way evy corrected beni in the movie, and wanted to give waverly a decent reason to do the same.
> 
> i think that’s everything bc, by now, there’s not too much to cover i don’t think. i will ofc be back like a bad penny next week with an update on the fallout from waverly’s decision. much as the character parallels always feel, for me, pretty glaringly obvious wynonna in particular is no jonathan…so consider that your one teaser. in the meantime i’d love to hear any thoughts you might have, any predictions for how the next few chapters might play out. please feel free to hmu on twitter, or just join me while i moan about tattoo itches!! aaaand i know i'm sounding like a broken record but it really just blows my mind that people are enjoying this story, that you take the time to tell me so, and that your comments are so kind and generous (arguably too much so!!)
> 
> finally, as we’re kind of gradually seeing the final few chapters of this fic (and given that my current au project is nowhere near post-worthy for you guys just yet) if there’s anything you’d like to see written please do let me know in a comment or via some kind of contact on twitter/tumblr. i can’t guarantee it’ll be written fast or even at all, but if something really grabs me then i'd love to fulfil a request (with idea credits ofc). as an example, ‘we could be lifted’ started out life as a response to a similar offer for requests. 
> 
> okay, i’ve waffled on enough now so i'm seeing myself out. see you all next week!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Nicole must brace for impact not just once when Wynonna finds out what has happened, but a second time too - in a whole different (but no less painful) sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> monday rolls round and i am back like a bad penny once more! only two more full chapters and one (sliiiightly) shorter "epilogue" to go now - and i'm actually really sad! i think this is the most fun i've had writing a fic in a while (if you ignore the tortured first stages where i'm wracked with self-doubt about how to do the thing with the words. and i do choose to ignore that stage). 
> 
> thank you all once again for the feedback on the previous chapter - if I can take anything away it's that I did not think through my description of "filler chapter". it's really and genuinely flattering and heartening that a chapter i simply saw as just 'moving characters from a to b' was so well-received. 
> 
> moving on to this chapter, i had quite a lot of fun working out how to add in some of the action in this part of the movie - i hope you guys like what i came up with! more notes after the chapter...

Nicole Haught may be a lot of things, but she has never been in the habit of running away.

She certainly is not in the habit of leaving anyone behind, especially when she, well, _cares_ as much for that someone as she does for Waverly.

There is no part of this that feels right, no part of leaving problems on the horizon that does not turn her stomach inside out.

(And granted, leaving someone in the hands of a reincarnated Ancient Egyptian priest is surely not a common enough occurrence to become habit for _anyone_ but, as far as Nicole is concerned, the point stands.)

Leaving is arguably the hardest thing she has ever done, but in the end it came down to the same thing as always; the same reason why Nicole has done much of anything in recent weeks.

 _Waverly Earp_.

Nicole has been fairly powerless to say ‘no’ to Waverly probably since the moment she set eyes on her through a set of old, rusted bars. And in the time that followed, Nicole had seen Waverly’s single-mindedness, her stubbornness, her _determination_ in action more times than she could count. She had known from the moment that Waverly stepped out of the car that there was only one possible outcome.

Waverly is a force of nature, Nicole knows this, and no one else stands a chance under the deluge.

(That Nicole would happily drown in the storm is somewhat a given too.)

So when Waverly decides to give herself up and buy time, Nicole ultimately runs in the opposite direction because, already, there is only one thing that matters: getting Waverly back to safety again.

She can do more alive and fighting than she can incarcerated or, more likely, dead at the hands of _Imhotep_ ’s strange new army.

More than that, Nicole is in an impossible position, one that compels her to think not only of Waverly’s wellbeing, but of Jeremy’s too. When Waverly stepped towards the crowd, helping one immediately meant leaving the other all alone.

Nicole cannot say she is surprised by this turn; it is exactly the kind of Catch-22 that has defined their entire mission to Hamunaptra. She is even less surprised when _Imhotep_ does not keep his promise to spare her life. She had never believed it, and she knows Waverly did not believe it either. As such, Nicole is primed and ready to get herself and Jeremy to safety at absolute maximum speed.

Of course, there is not a part of Nicole’s body - not bone, muscle, sinew - that could ever leave Waverly standing there, but the instant she is dragged out of sight the game changes. It is like a countdown clock has started and Nicole knows she won’t be wasting a single second in a state of hesitation.

All the same, it still breaks Nicole’s heart to hear Waverly scream at what it must be presumed is _Imhotep_ ’s betrayal. Nicole cannot say she understands Ancient Egyptian any better now than before this whole thing started, but she knows a kill order when she hears one.

It only occurs to Nicole as she turns on her heel that Waverly probably will not be allowed to wait and see the outcome of this fresh attack. She can only hope that the belief she holds in Waverly is reciprocated.

She doesn’t like to think of Waverly wracked with worry over their escape, especially because escape turns out to be the easy part. _Imhotep_ ’s plague victims are in far too much pain to move very quickly and, given that the car had been left running, it is merely a question of getting back behind the wheel and careening away.

One additional, reckless u-turn later and they are back on the road again.

After a beat or two, Jeremy’s head pops up into view in the mirror. Clearly he had retained the presence of mind to get himself out of sight.

“What. The. _Hell_?” he asks, looking pale and frightened. “Dude. What the hell just happened?”

In truth, Nicole cannot say that she knows the answer, except to say that she let Waverly go.

It hits her then, harder than a freight train and worse than a bullet.

 _Oh God_ , she thinks _, I just let her go. What the hell does that make me?_

“Nicole?” Jeremy prompts when she does not answer.

She takes a deep breath, barely thinking as she racks up an alarming speed and the tyres thunder painfully against the tarmac.

They need to get ahead of _Imhotep_ , certainly, but Nicole also needs an outlet for every negative emotion currently coursing through her. The scream of the car’s engine helps at least one per cent.

“Waverly said it was about buying time, but I think she just didn’t want anyone else to get caught up in this shitstorm.”

“But doesn’t he want to - ”

“ _Yes_ , Jeremy.” Nicole does not mean to snap, but she cannot bear to hear the end of that sentence right now.

“So hasn’t she just made it a hundred times eas- ”

“Jeremy, I _know_ , okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly and although in some ways he is apologising for careless words, he also says it in the way of someone offering condolences.

 _I’m sorry for your loss_.

Nicole clenches her jaw, teeth pressing together painfully enough to ground her. She does not want to consider this outcome - they have not lost anyone just yet. She will move heaven and earth before she allows that to change.

“We’re going to get her back,” she says, ignoring the apology altogether. “We’re going to - ”

“Nicole,” Jeremy interrupts, sounding urgent.

Although she appreciates that a dose of reality might be healthy, Nicole blusters on, unwilling to consider the alternative.  

“I know the odds are massively against us right now but I can’t not try okay? Waverly is - God, I don’t know what to say. She’s important, she’s - ”

“ _Nicole_ ,” Jeremy tries again, louder than before.

“Jeremy I _know_ okay? I know what’s probably going to happen but I need to fo- ”

“Nicole I’m with you on the denial thing, okay? But look - I think that’s Dolls.”

For the first time, Nicole questions whether she should really be driving in this frame of mind.

Sure, they are a ways off in the distance, but Nicole can easily pick out what Jeremy has seen. Two figures who must surely be Dolls and Wynonna up ahead and just off the road. They are outside of the vehicle and, by the looks of things, trying to fend off an attack from _Imhotep_ ’s weird zombie army.

By the time this has registered completely Nicole, they have advanced closer - such is their current speed - and she is forced to hit the brakes, hard. The car just about screeches to a stop beside the melee and its passengers watch as Dolls and Wynonna struggle against their assailants.

They seem reluctant to inflict any real damage on the assembled horde; likely they too are conscious that the people they are fighting are actually just innocent bystanders.

Nicole and Jeremy’s less than ceremonious arrival is enough, but while the locals blink in confusion Jeremy winds the window down and yells for Wynonna and Dolls to get in the car.

“See?” he adds, turning back to Nicole as Dolls and Wynonna scramble inside, “we even have _The Mystery Machine_.”

Nicole offers a weak laugh, appreciating his effort to lighten the mood. He is fighting a losing battle, however, because with Wynonna’s arrival Nicole’s list of problems only grows.

She only has a few moments before Wynonna realises that something is awry, and so she braces herself for impact even if there is no way to be entirely prepared for the implosion.

There are no defences against Wynonna Earp realising that her little sister is nowhere to be found. There is merely a momentary silence after Wynonna throws herself onto the backseat, crashing into Jeremy who had not quite succeeded in moving out the way. They both yelp and tangle around each other as Dolls takes the newly-vacant shotgun seat with much more decorum, quite literally shaking a hand that has somehow grabbed at his ankle. Indeed, he looks as though he has done little more than bat away a particularly persistent fly as she shuts the door.

Behind him, both Wynonna and Jeremy yell at Nicole to _drive_ , the back door still hanging wide open. 

A good soldier, Nicole follows the command (even if it didn’t actually come from Dolls), and eventually Wynonna rights herself enough to shut the door and cut off the stream of air whipping through the car.

“What, are you actively stopping your car for fistfights now?” Nicole asks Dolls as she makes the most reckless lane exit of her life. “You’ve been with Wynonna, what, an hour and you’re already taking tips?”

“Some of them were armed,” Dolls explains, sounding a little breathless. “One guy managed to get a good shot in and blow out one of our tyres. Almost turned us over at the speed we were going.”

He pauses, looking set to go on, but stops in his tracks when Wynonna says Nicole’s name so quietly and so seriously that even Dolls looks perturbed.

Nicole studiously avoids looking in her mirror, bad practice be damned. She has already incurred about a hundred road traffic infractions tonight, what’s one more between soon to be ex-friends?

Wynonna repeats herself, voice heavy and strained.

“ _Nicole_.”

“Wynonna lis-”

“Nicole where the _fuck_ is my sister?”

“Wynonna I need you to stay calm and listen to what I’m about to say.”

“Oh yeah, right,” Wynonna responds, voice rising in instinctual panic, “because beginning your answer like that is a surefire way to keep,” she aims an angry kick at the back of Nicole’s seat, “people,” another kick, “ _calm_.”

Nicole winces, more at the comment than at the impact on Wynonna’s boot.

“Fair point. We - shit Wynonna I’m sorry okay? We ran into _Imhotep_ and Bobo as we tried to get out. She got out the car, I couldn’t stop her.”

“You are not going to tell me that they got her Nicole. You’re really, really not. Because if you do, then so help me God I swear I am going to make this _Hom-Dai_ bullshit look like a trip to Disneyworld.”

“I never went,” Nicole says mildly, knowing that it is the wrong response but unsure of what Wynonna really wants her to say.

Yes, she let Waverly go. Yes, it is killing her. No, she doesn’t expect Wynonna to understand, let alone accept it.

Furious, Wynonna is halfway out of the backseat and across the car’s central console faster than Nicole could have imagined. She is only stopped by Dolls’ quick reactions as, in a smooth and effortless motion, he angles himself to impede her advance.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dolls says, twisted awkwardly in his seat. “Cool it, okay? Unless you really do want to die in an upturned car tonight.”

He gives Wynonna a gentle look, softer than Nicole has seen Dolls in a long while, and it would give her pause if there weren’t about a hundred thousand other things to deal with first.

“Just let her talk, okay?” he tells Wynonna quietly before glancing at Nicole. “And you, no more wisecracks.”

“Sorry,” Nicole says, putting as much sincerity into her voice as she can manage. “I just don’t know what else I can tell you guys. She went with them, she thought it could buy us time and it was obvious she didn’t want us in any more danger. She felt guilty and I couldn’t seem to change her mind. Say what you want to me, both of you, it really can’t be anything I haven’t already said to myself.”

“What, like the fact you let my sister go with that - that monster?” Wynonna says, still fuming and resisting ineffectually against Dolls. “That you just let it happen? You let them take her? Did you even try, Haught?”

Wynonna spits her name out like something repulsive and Nicole cannot say she disagrees. She cannot fathom how anyone can be more disgusted than she is at herself, but she knows what Waverly means to Wynonna and, more than anything, she understands the anger being levelled at her.

Nonetheless, some defensive instinct kicks in, some need to deflect not from Wynonna but, Nicole knows, from herself.

“What do _you_ think Wynonna?” Nicole asks, voice threatening to crack under the weight of the tears clawing at her throat. “What, you think she said ‘bye’ and I just went ‘oh see you later Waves, enjoy your day out in the death-city’? _Of course_ I tried to stop her - Christ, what do you take me for?”

Wynonna scoffs, sounding approximately one frayed nerve away from crying too.

“Right now, you do _not_ want me to answer that question.”

Nicole gives a wordless, frustrated cry of complete and total defeat.

She hates everything that is happening; she hates the fact that Waverly is gone, hates that it has reduced her and Wynonna to this kind of animosity. And still that attempt to deflect, to defend, settles. She is scared, she is angry, and more than anything she agrees with Wynonna’s comments.

For all that Nicole has always been a warrior, she has never really been much of a fighter - not unless she absolutely cannot help it. This fear for Waverly, however, is stronger than almost anything Nicole has ever known and it manifests itself in further heated words.

“Okay then Wynonna - since you seem to know it all; what do you propose I should have done? What did you want from me when I’ve got Bobo aiming a gun at us and the damn mummy himself almost fully restored with a walking defense group to boot?

“I’ve got Jeremy in the backseat of this car, completely unarmed, and to top it all off there’s your sister actively trying to give herself up. So go on Earp - what’s the big solution? I wrestle her back into the car while Bobo shoots me and _Imhotep_ takes your sister while I bleed out on the floor, absolutely no damn use to anyone?”

There is more she could say, but Nicole can feel the flame beneath her skin sputtering out to nothing as she speaks. She peters out, her bluster and her fury all but gone. She does not want to upset Wynonna, especially when the person she is most angry at is herself.

“Wynonna, she’s telling the truth,” Jeremy mutters quietly, trying to help but only directing Wynonna’s wrath onto himself instead as she whirls around to send him a glare.

“Oh don’t think you’re off the hook just because I’m shouting at _her_ ,” Wynonna tells him with a jerk of her head back in Nicole’s direction. “You could have stopped Waverly too, you know.”  

“Sorry have you actually _met_ your sister?” Nicole half-shouts as Jeremy cringes back into his seat. “When was the last time anyone stopped her from doing something she wanted to do?”

This makes Wynonna pause for a moment.

“Okay, alright. You’re not wrong there,” Wynonna concedes. “But I am still furious and absolutely going to fight you the second we get out of this car.”

“Good, beat the shit out of me for all it’ll help get your sister back,” Nicole replies, not bothering to add that she already feels like it would be no less than she deserved. She is pretty sure that much is obvious is to everyone in the car.

“ _Hey_ ,” Dolls interjects sternly before Wynonna can snipe back. “Believe it or not we are on the same side here. And you two fighting will do us absolutely no good.” He turns, as far as possible whilst still acting as a human barricade, to Nicole. “I take it you have a plan?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” Nicole says briskly. “Get to the city, find the Gold Book, get it to Waverly and help her stop _Imhotep_. I can do more good for her by actually doing what she asked than just fighting her on it,” she explains, wishing it were as simple as that. “Of course, it helps that he’ll need the Black Book and the key before - ”

“Yeah, he has them already,” Wynonna says bluntly, at least having the mercy to cut Nicole short before she can get too optimistic.

“You _lost_ them?” Nicole asks, incredulous. That had been their one trump card and now it was gone.

“Yeah well, you lost my sister,” Wynonna points out, finally sitting back in her seat and softening ever slightly.

Nicole doubts that she will ever actually be fully forgiven for this but if, against all odds, they can actually pull off this rescue mission then there might be a chance that she and Wynonna can move on. They had a good friendship building after all, and Nicole would quite like to resume it.

“So we’re really doing it, huh?” Wynonna asks, “we’re really going back to the city?”

“Hey, it’s third time lucky for some of us,” Nicole points out.

“Well, you know what? Fuck it. At least I’m not walking this time,” Wynonna says with a shrug, old mask of nonchalance firmly back in place. “Wait, please just tell me for one hundred percent that we’re not walking. I want to be sure. We’re taking a four by four, right?”

“Oh no,” Dolls says with an enigmatic grin, “I think we can do a bit better than that.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you alright?” Nicole calls over the comms, chancing a glance over her shoulder from the cockpit.

“Who are you asking?” Jeremy yells back, voice shaky and barely audible even through Nicole’s earpiece. The wind whips through the hold with alarming force, drowning out almost everything else.

“All of you?” Nicole tries.

“Do we bloody look alright?” Wynonna shouts, and if Nicole cranes her neck she can just see the way that Wynonna clings onto the edges of her fold down seat, her whole body tensed to the point that Nicole is worried for her back.

“Get in the chopper, they said,” Wynonna grumbles, “it’ll be the best way to get there, they said.”

“And it is,” Dolls points out from where he sits beside Nicole in the co-pilot’s seat. Dolls grins but Nicole can’t seem to find a joy of mirth to throw back at him. Nonetheless, they share a quick, knowing look.

Nicole still remembers the first time she went up in a military helicopter.

“We’ll be there in no time,” Dolls adds, “and we can intercept them on arrival. Bobo may be resourceful, but I doubt he’s managed to get them all airborne, right?” Dolls casts a quick, distrustful look back at Doc and Rosita, both of whom are wedged next to Jeremy.

Looking green around the gills, Doc just shakes his head and grits out, “I highly doubt it.”

They had picked the two of them up at the base upon their arrival, the sole survivors of _Imhotep’s_ purge. They hadn’t been too keen to head back to the city, even less so when Dolls had revealed the mode of transport, but ultimately it was all hands on deck and they respected that.

Well, that and the fact that Wynonna had put across the somewhat compelling argument that, if Waverly could stand up and be counted for her part in this, then Doc and Rosita could do the same. Wynonna makes the point while poking a finger angrily and repeatedly into Doc’s chest. It had the double effect of being worryingly intimidating _and_ sending him pacing backwards with each prod, more or less herding him onto the chopper. 

Rosita, for her part, had simply climbed aboard and muttered, “I hate that goddamn place but all you ever had to do was ask.”

In that moment, Nicole had personally felt that both Doc and Rosita had gotten off lightly compared to Wynonna’s verbal assault back in the SUV. Now, though, seeing how travel-sick Doc in particular looks, Nicole begins to re-evaluate.

At least Jeremy seemed somewhat pleased with his new travel buddy - it is the only silver lining Nicole can find in this awful scenario.

Dolls had tried to canvas Lucardo to give them more agents for the rescue mission, but she refused to officially sanction any such operation. They had manpower to spare, and it would have been almost effortless for Lucardo to mobilise more agents, especially given the carnage _Imhotep_ had left behind on base.

People were mad as hell and wanted to help.

But Lucardo’s unknown feud with Dolls was long-running and deeply entrenched, and her inactivity was essentially one large middle finger in the Deputy Marshall's general direction.

They technically did not have permission even to take the helicopter, but Dolls’s working relationships with other agents were, in a few limited cases, much better than with Lucardo.

Agent Shapiro, currently down in ops on medical grounds, happily popped off to find a working coffee machine while they all hared across the aircraft hangar and onto the nearest available chopper.  

This should have been the hardest part, but finding her way to Hamunaptra by air turned out to be a lot more difficult than Nicole had expected. The desert was immense, and landmarks were even scarcer this high up. She was following the road out of Kharga mostly, and keeping an eye out for the ravine where she, Dolls, and Jeremy were ambushed a lifetime ago.

As Nicole does her best to stay on course, they fly into the dawn and the sun rises spectacularly up from the horizon, although no one takes much time to appreciate the visuals.

“Can I ask a question?” Wynonna begins, her tone implying that the request is rhetorical.

“Shoot,” Dolls tells her anyway.

“Don’t give her that kind of green light,” Nicole chips in absently. The two of them are on marginally better terms now that Wynonna has had time to cool down.

Wynonna gives a sarcastic laugh. “Very funny. But more importantly, why in the name of God do these things never have doors? Literally, how hard would it be to just put one in?”

As if to prove her point, a large section of her long hair escapes its pontytail and whips in front of her face, causing her to splutter and scrabble to move it out of her mouth.

“Trust me,” Nicole tells her, “with the sun coming through the windows you do not want to be in an enclosed space right now. They don’t exactly install AC in these things.”

“Plus, they’re military,” Dolls adds. “We kind of need a nice gap to, you know, shoot out of.”

“Oh well that is certainly comforting knowledge,” Wynonna says, rolling her eyes. “I am _so_ glad I asked that question.”

“Sometimes it really is better the devil you don’t know,” Dolls agrees absently, but they all only really have one demon on their mind as they thunder closer to the City of the Dead again.

 

 

 

 

 

Upon reflection, Waverly had perhaps been naive to think that the bad news amounted to _Imhotep_ having regenerated sufficiently to advance his plan, also known as killing Waverly and gifting her lifeless body over to someone else’s condemned spirit.

Probably, that is still a strong contender for the title of ‘the bad news’, along with the fact he has the Book of the Damned and its key. The _really_ bad news is that, apparently, the priest actually can Apparate. Or at least, that was the best explanation Waverly could give for how she seemed to arrive back at the edge of Hamunaptra in the blink of an eye.

One minute they are all traipsing through the outskirts of Luxor on foot, with Bobo now dragging Waverly along like a chattel cow, and the next they are back in the ancient city in a cloud of dust.

Waverly remembers the sand pouring beneath the door at the military base, remembers how Nicole had told her one night on the return truck about the face in the desert floor. Waverly cannot bring herself to be entirely surprised that _Imhotep_ can manipulate the desert like this, but the extent of his power does blindside her for a moment.

Hope drains from her body entirely for the first time since she took _Imhotep_ ’s hand; her entire plan had hinged upon Nicole and Wynonna keeping up. Instead, they are probably hours behind out on the narrow desert roads.

It is then that Waverly first understands that she will probably die out here in the desert. The thought feels almost tangible, like it materialises and rattles around her head to make itself known.

(Although, to be fair, this may also be an effect of ancient teleportation).

As she and Bobo both hazily regain their balance, _Imhotep_ stalks further into Hamunaptra without a backwards glance. The rest of Bobo’s men have been left behind in Luxor, tasked with finding the owner of the remaining canopic jar, and Waverly cannot say if it is better or worse to have only Bobo and the priest for company.

Waverly chances a look at Bobo as he staggers unsteadily in the sand. Amidst his disorientation, there is a look on his face that tells Waverly more than Bobo has ever said to her in mere words. Not for the first time, she wonders if he ever truly understood the nature - the sheer _force_ \- of the mummy he wanted to unleash.

Waverly would love to ask him whether he simply expected to tame the mummy - not _Imhotep_ but the formless, cursed creature within - but she knows that Bobo would not give her a serious answer.

As it is, there is not regret, precisely, on Bobo’s face now, only perhaps an air of being overwhelmed. He shrouds the look when he catches Waverly watching him and immediately grips onto her arm again, trying once more to steer her along. 

For the hundredth time, Waverly jerks her arm away and her persistence makes Bobo chuckle, the sound a patronising hum above Waverly’s ear.

She sends him her very best withering glare.

“You know, I really am glad that this is all so funny to you,” she tells him. “I’m glad you can find amusement in all of this happening to me, in the fact that you sent three men to their deaths for no reason. They didn’t deserve to die like that.” 

Bobo exhales sharply through his nose in a show of cold amusement.

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“I know what he did to them,” she says. “And I know that no one deserves to die like that, not even someone like _you_ ,” she adds, aware that her words will simply glance off Bobo painlessly.

“How magnanimous of you Waverly,” Bobo replies mildly, still finding amusement in her temper.

She knows that this is merely a tactic to pique her frustration. It works, but she fights not to show it.

“Nonetheless,” she goes on softly, “I’m content to know that men like you always get their comeuppance eventually.”

“Oh _Waverly_ ,” Bobo replies, taking great care to sound disappointed in her. “You’re much too smart for that, aren’t you? You know as well as I do that the world doesn’t work like that.”

“Don’t tell me what I’m smart enough for,” Waverly snaps, clenching her fists. “Because what I do know is that heroes always win.”

Bobo says nothing to this, but if Waverly thought she might take back some semblance of control, then someone out there has other ideas.

As soon as their conversation dies, a distant humming starts up in its place. It sounds like engines, and both Waverly and Bobo find themselves glancing skywards in confusion.

They watch in silence as a little airborne speck appears in the distance, gradually growing larger as it approaches.

Quickly, it takes shape and Waverly knows that a helicopter out here can only really mean one thing. She cannot help but feel a moment of muted joy, whispering Nicole and Wynonna’s names under her breath like a prayer.

The chopper swoops lower and Waverly must assume that its passengers - whoever might have been rallied at such short notice - have seen the city and maybe even three tiny figures in the dust.  

At the sight of the helicopter, Bobo only scoffs while _Imhotep_ growls in anger. His expression twists into something ugly and murderous, and it takes Waverly a moment to realise that it is the little balloon of hope in her chest that has angered him most.  

In an almost theatrical gesture, _Imhotep_ stretches both his hands outwards, fingers splayed open. Without any further warning, a familiar demonic rumble from beneath them, as though emanating from the heart of the underground city.

Waverly realises that the ground is shaking only when a wall of sand and earth starts to rise ethereally and impossibly upwards from the ground in front of them.

“I’d say goodbye to your sister and your soldier _friend_ once and for all,” Bobo spits, taking great joy in this latest turn of events.

The sand continues to rise, growing up and up like an enchanted, inverse avalanche. It seems to be as broad as it is tall, many miles across in length. It extends higher at an alarming speed until it is level with the helicopter, obscuring it completely.

Waverly just has a chance to see the chopper do an abrupt about turn before it is blotted out, but there is surely no hope of escape. _Imhotep_ makes this clear when he brings both palms abruptly down again and the sand crashes back towards the ground.

The force of it must strike the helicopter like a tsunami and, when the dust slowly settles, the chopper is nowhere to be seen. Waverly feels her chest constrict and her vision swim black at the edges, grief and pain like knife blades when, moments later, an ugly plume of smoke appears in the near distance.

Waverly wants to scream, but she already knows there is no point. She is no expert on air travel but there is surely no surviving something like that. Waverly’s voice dies in her throat and her resolve fades out with it.

Suddenly, she cannot remember why any of this mattered in the first place. Indeed, she cannot remember why anything ever mattered at all.

Nicole and Wynonna are probably dead, and Waverly can find no reason now to fight against a similar fate. She does not struggle or snark when Bobo claws again at her arm, but rather lets him drag her back towards Hamunaptra. She cannot meet his gaze; she does not want to see his satisfaction at her acquiescence.

She only stares over her shoulder at the ugly line of thick, black smoke marring the horizon.

Heroes, it would seem, could not win against impossible odds.

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole is the first to spot _Imhotep_ ’s strange method of transportation. It drags up a strange sandy whirlwind, and Nicole has to blink a couple of times to ensure she is not imagining it.

Thinking perhaps it is a trick of the morning sun she fishes a pair of aviators from the dash but, even with her eyes appropriately shielded, the dust cloud does not disappear.

“What in the sweet hell?” she mutters, the comment intended primarily for herself, although of course everyone is hooked up to the comms and hears her anyway.

“What?” Jeremy asks wildly, alerted by the subtle note of apprehension in Nicole’s voice. 

Dolls follows Nicole’s line of sight and picks out the sandstorm.

“Well, would you look at that,” he adds absently, voice belying a quiet sort of awe.

Nicole shifts their position slightly, angling the chopper so that the others can see out of the doorless gap Wynonna had mentioned earlier.

“You see that?” she asks the passengers. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Never?” Doc repeats, still looking remarkably pale.

“Nope,” Dolls confirms as Nicole readjusts their route. The timing means that only she and Dolls see the way the sandstorm disappears to nothing like someone has flicked a switch.

They share a nervous look and, fiddling with a couple of switches on the console, Dolls mutes their microphones.

“Tell me I imagined that,” he asks, doing his best to find a compromise between making himself heard above the wind, but only by Nicole.

“I wish I could.”

“Also, while we’re at it,” Dolls adds and points through the windscreen, “are you seeing whatever that is?”

“That I can confirm,” Nicole says, already reducing their altitude, on the approach to the exact spot where the sandstorm had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“It looks like people,” she adds, adjusting her glasses where they slip down her nose.

Below them are three tiny figures and although there is no conclusive way to identify them, Nicole feels fairly certain that only a select few people would be wandering this part of the desert.

Nicole’s heart drops even further and she cannot help but wonder that it isn’t at her feet.

“Well, this screws up our surprise attack,” Dolls observes, evidently thinking along the same lines. His face is blank, but Nicole can sense his concern in the subtle way he squares is broad shoulders.

“Just for the record, we know you’re talking about something,” Wynonna says, her voice accusatory as it crackles over the comms. Something must be interfering with the signal. “Did no one teach you better manners, Deputy Marshall?”

Nicole watches as Dolls bites back a small grin before he promptly unmutes their headsets. She stores away that particular observation for a better time.

“We think they’re already at the city,” he explains as gently as possible, but the blow hits Wynonna as they would expect. She swears, although the static mostly obscures it.  

“I thought you said we were gonna have the element of surprise,” Rosita asks when Wynonna draws breath.

“I did,” Dolls replies.

“You said it was the best way to help Waverly,” Wynonna adds, finally regaining her ability to articulate properly. 

Dolls grimaces. “It was.”

“So does anyone mind telling me what the hell we’re going to do now?”

It is easy to hear the panic in Wynonna’s voice and it is a sentiment Nicole shares.

“We’re going to go in, same as planned, and help get your sister back,” Dolls says firmly.

Nicole expects Wynonna to protest that this is not good enough anymore, but clearly Dolls has inspired her trust.

“Okay,” she murmurs, just audible via their headphones.

“Uh, guys?” Jeremy interrupts urgently, pointing at something outside of the chopper. “Prizes for the first kind soul who tells me I’m hallucinating right now.”

They all turn their attention back to the desert, only to find that the floor is now in completely the wrong place.

“Oh. My. God,” Dolls says, eyes going wide.

“I take it that means I’m not imagining things?” Jeremy asks, “damnit I was hoping for good news.”

There is no rational explanation for the gargantuan wall of sand somehow suspended in front of them, a perfect barrier between themselves and the people below. Even the immediate explanation - that the mummy must have lifted it all up with magic - seems to be too much, but Nicole can only believe that it is the truth.

The sand moves towards them like nothing Nicole has ever seen before, which is saying a lot considering the summer she has been having.

(And to think, she had believed that the nadir had been summer camp the year she got outed to half the kids in her grade.)

Just when things appear to be as terrifying as possible, the sand in the center of the wall shifts into a relief just like the one Nicole had seen that very first time in Hamunaptra. A face she now recognises as _Imhotep_ swarms towards them, its mouth open as if to swallow them whole.

Painful memories of complete and total isolation, of pelting from the city all those months ago, come to her and Nicole silently commands herself to ignore them. She cannot afford this right now; she cannot allow her hands to shake with the memory of past trials, or with the fear of what might happen if she cannot get the team to safety.

She has no choice but to manually send the helicopter into a wild one-eighty, upping their speed for yet another frantic escape mission. There are a lot of lives depending on this.

Dolls turns to her, eyes flashing wild with an emotion Nicole recognises; at times like this you are always stuck somewhere between blinding fear and total, unabashed exhilaration. It never really matters which one wins - whatever gets you out alive will do.

“You got this, right?” he asks, not waiting for Nicole’s answer as he unclips his seatbelt and launches from the cockpit and into the hold.

“What do you think you’re going to do, shoot at it?” Nicole howls incredulously at Dolls’ retreating back. There are at least thirty flaws in such a plan, but one comes most strongly to mind. “It’s made of _sand_ , Dolls.”

“It’s also intrinsically linked to him. It’s worth a try.”

“It didn’t even hurt him when I shot his actual face, let alone a sand one,” Nicole points out, but Dolls ignores her as he darts past the rest of the team, all of whom join Nicole in protesting this new development.

He grabs the nearest Colt and fires it at the fifty foot face looming closer. The bullets send ripples through the sand, and Nicole likes to at least imagine that they slow the thing down. Regardless, it is not enough to keep the wall of sand from advancing and soon enough things go dark as they are completely engulfed.

It hits them with bone-shattering force and Nicole flies blind, wincing as rocks glance off the windscreen. The pointed edge of one drives into the glass and cracks it, the little faultlines spreading with every fresh strain on the chopper.

They hear an ugly crunch from above and even without seeing anything, Nicole knows that something has taken out the rotor mast as they lurch violently to one side.

The damage is substantial enough that they lose altitude immediately, the added force of the sand sending them down even more quickly.

With everyone else crying out in fear, Nicole feels everything around her slow down. She is used to this sensation, to the slow-motion effect of the human body’s fight or flight instinct. She lets every useful piece of training come to her, working the controls manually as she struggles to keep them level.

The air currents batter them from every angle as they shudder towards the ground. The motion is fractured and nonsensical and Nicole feels herself judder from side to side, somehow hitting her head multiple times on the top console.

Already, she knows there is little she can do but try to stop everyone dying on impact. She screams at Dolls to get himself strapped in, but it is impossible to see anything when there is sand flying into both the hold and the cockpit. It coats everything and stings against Nicole’s skin, getting into her eyes and mouth.

They corkscrew down and Nicole yells out a final command for everyone to brace, praying to high heaven that they have all watched an airplane safety demonstration recently. She cannot say there had been time to go through safety procedures, not that one actually existed in the event of: Giant Sand Face Tries To Kill You.  

Nicole continues grappling with the controls and would struggle to explain exactly how she manages to get the chopper on the ground skids first. It is almost certainly, however, what saves their lives as they slide through thick sand, the momentum of the blade still carrying them along until it finally gives up the ghost and screeches to a standstill.

They move along for a while longer until, eventually, they crash into an arguably well-placed rock formation. Fortunately, they have slowed down enough to avoid any real damage to the passengers, but the collision all but finishes off the chopper itself. 

Upon impact, Nicole has another forceful collision with the above-head panel which sends a further shock of pain throbbing outwards from her forehead. She feels the sting of broken skin, but can do little more than appreciate that things weren’t even worse.

She lets the dust settle, counting the frantic beating of her heart to fifty before chancing a glance behind her, adrenaline peaking at the fear of what she might find.

The anti-climax comes immediately; everything is covered in sand. It is deep enough to have half-buried the helicopter, but not enough to be a suffocation risk. There is enough of a gap at the door to let light spill through, and it would all be comical if not for very obvious reasons.

A quick count reveals five figures still in the hold, which in itself is a relief. 

Rosita is in the far corner, looking shell-shocked but mostly uninjured, with Doc beside her and still identifiable by his moustache. It is now covered in sand but very much visible nonetheless. He has one hand clutching his ever-present hat to his head, its brim filled to tipping point with dirt and tiny rocks. The little of his face that is still visible reveals an expression that suggests he would be happy to never be airborne again.

Jeremy, at least, is rising from a credible brace - the only passenger who had managed to protect himself adequately. Wynonna is next to him, coated in more sand than anyone else as she clings onto Dolls for dear life.  

He clearly had not made it to a seat of his own, but had at least been near enough to Wynonna to grip onto her chair (and onto Wynonna herself by the looks of things), while she fisted her hands in the back of his jacket to keep him falling to his death.

For a moment, no one else moves. Nicole allows everyone time to recover in relative peace, their heaving breathing just barely audible over the tinny ringing in their ears.

Dolls is the first to move, scrambling into a seated position as he seems to realise he is still half wrapped around Wynonna.

He glances over to Nicole in concern, heaving a sigh when he finds her alive and conscious. He scans her over for injuries, the corners of his eyes immediately creasing in concern.

“You’re bleeding,” he announces, voice louder than normal as he overcompensates for the noise in his ears. 

Nicole runs a hand over her face in response, using Dolls’ eyeline as a rough guide.

Her fingertips are stained a dark red when she draws them back, and the moment she becomes more aware of the injury she notices the wetness trickling down the side of her face. Her forehead stings with the depth of the cut above her left eyebrow, but it hardly matters.

She shrugs awkwardly, and it immediately draws her attention to an additional pain in her chest. Perhaps the impact had done her more damage than she initially thought. Still, it could have all been so much worse, and she says this to everyone.

Dolls nods briskly, and awards her a quick smile.

“Well done Haught. To be honest with you, I’m not quite sure how this thing is still the right way up.”

“Yeah, neither am I,” Nicole admits, unbuckling her belt and trying to check herself over for signs of any further injuries. She is dimly aware of the rest of the chopper’s passengers thanking her, and she brushes off the gratitude quickly.

Wynonna is the next to try and get up, but Dolls is still on the floor in front of her and he shoots up to still her with a hand on each of her arms. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” he says quickly, “not so fast, okay?”

“Waverly...” Wynonna tries to protest, evidently slightly disoriented from the crash. Nicole prays she has not sustained a concussion - it is really the last thing they need.

“...needs you in one piece, okay?” Dolls finishes, and Wynonna frowns but evidently cannot find a good retort. They share a deep look as Dolls gets up to examine her. He gently checks her neck and shoulders over for serious injury, fingers glancing over the back of her head too.

“See?” Wynonna says, folding her arms over her chest as Dolls does a few extra checks, “fighting fit as per. Speaking of, I normally ask a dude to buy me a drink before this much hand stuff.” 

Her attempt at humour is valiant, convincing even, but her voice does lack some of its usual bite.

In addition, she studiously avoids meeting Dolls’ gaze, which has Nicole rolling her eyes.

Wynonna had called her, _Nicole_ , obvious. Jeez.

She makes a mental note to give Wynonna shit about it if things ever go back to normal. In the meantime, however, there are things to do. 

Also first aid trained and satisfied that she herself won’t be falling apart just yet, Nicole scrabbles to cover a cut on her hand so that she can help Dolls check over the team. Like Wynonna, she is chomping at the bit to get to _Hamunaptra_ , but she knows there is no point arriving there with an injured contingent.

Although she suspects that everyone is sporting some mild degree of whiplash (as well as a good few strains and bruises), no one is so critically injured that they need to stay behind. In fact, Nicole is the only one with any visible bleeding and it is perhaps best not to raise the question of internal bleeding right now.

She lets Dolls do a quick patch job on her face while he simultaneously instructs the rest of the team on what supplies to load up into holdalls. Once he has stemmed Nicole’s bleeding and cleaned the worst of the grit away, he and Nicole pitch in to make the work quicker.

They all move awkwardly in the enclosed space, Nicole nearly tripping over Jeremy’s feet twice and Dolls and Wynonna bumping into each other unfortunately frequently.

Eventually, however, they are ready to leave and they each clamber out of the open doorway.

“I sure am grateful for this weird open air thing now,” Wynonna admits as she hauls herself outside with some degree of difficulty. Indeed, they are all forced to manoeuvre themselves awkwardly through the available gap on the soft, pliant sand as it moves beneath them.

Eventually they are all assembled, looking like the kind of disheveled rescue team that no one would ever choose. Unfortunately for Waverly, however, they are all she has.

Nicole blinks against the mid-morning sun, and thinks wistfully of her poor broken aviators, cracked from where she’d collided with one of the control panels. She had pocketed them upon leaving and even gives them a quick try, but the shards of glass were not particularly worth the risk. 

“Come on,” she announces as she tosses her glasses into the bottom of a bag full of ammo. She hoists the whole thing onto her left shoulder, which aches marginally less than the right one. “Look out for one another as we go, keep an eye out for any attacks and guys, _please_ , communicate.”

Everyone else nods their assent, walking instinctually in single file as they continue their journey back to the City of the Dead.

 

 

 

 

 

Mercifully, they find themselves only a short distance from what would once have been the rear entrance to the city.

Nicole does her best not to remember the bright look on Waverly’s face as she shared that fact. Instead, she focuses on setting the pace and keeping it blisteringly fast. No one complains and there are occasions when she thinks Wynonna would overtake if it had been a physical possibility. They proceed at nothing less than a brisk jog and talk strategy on the way.

Eventually, they decide that their best bet will be to split up. Someone needs to work out a route to Waverly while the rest of the team looks for the golden book so that they can reconvene and converge on _Imhotep_ together.

Of course, it is much harder to assign duties once this is decided.

Nicole is fairly non-negotiable on her role, but so is Wynonna.

Their principle problem is that they need someone who is at least partway familiar with Egyptian mythology and language to find the way to Horus, and to read any instructions on accessing the book.

No one on the team has sufficient grounding on the subject matter except for Wynonna who is, understandably, quite resistant to anything that is not storming down, all guns blazing, to confront _Imhotep_.

In the end, it takes both Dolls and Nicole to talk her round.

“Earp, it has to come down to Waverly” Dolls says gently.

“I think I knew that already,” Wynonna snaps, temper at an all time low. Dolls ignores her.

“We have to do the best we can to help her and that involves getting to the book. You know as well as I do that this is our one shot to save her _and_ end this once and for all.”

Nicole expects Wynonna to protest, but is surprised by her immediate silence.

Nicole glances backwards to find a look of hesitation on Wynonna’s face. She understands immediately that Wynonna’s concerns have shifted. 

“Waverly would tell you that you can do this,” Nicole points out. “She’d tell you that it was all still in your head somewhere. She’d believe in you. _I_ believe in you.”

“You know I hate it when you go all bumper sticker,” Wynonna grumbles, but it is clear that Nicole’s encouragement has helped.

“But that means you’re going down to get her,” Wynonna points out. “And I need you to know that if you mess this up I truly will fight you this time.”

“Then you’ll have another mummy on your hands, because that is what he’ll need to do to stop me.”

“Good fighting talk,” Wynonna concedes as they pass the boundary wall and enter the city. 

“I let him take her once because I didn’t have a choice,” Nicole adds. “I’m not going to let that happen again.”

Wynonna nods, satisfied. Still, she pulls Dolls aside as Nicole searches for their old route underground.

“You’re going with her, right?” Wynonna asks.

Dolls starts to shake his head, insistent that they need more hands searching for the book.

“I know you’re pissed at her, but I need you to understand that Nicole can do this. She’s my best agent.”

Wynonna shakes her head. “It’s not about how mad I am anymore. The absolute worst case here for me is that I lose my sister. I can’t even let myself think about it properly. But I _have_ thought about what happens if I get Waverly back, but _she_ loses Nicole. I’m pretty sure it would all but kill my sister to know that Nicole did something stupid trying to save her.”

“I understand Earp, really I do, but Nicole doesn’t need me to - ”

“I know she doesn’t need babysitting Dolls,” Wynonna assures him. “But we all need backup, right?” she asks, tipping him a quick wink.

“Yeah, we do,” Dolls agrees eventually, the additional context not lost on him.

“So go with her, alright?” Wynonna insists. “I know she’ll get to Waverly but I want to know she’s got help too. Also, don’t tell her I said any of this okay?”

Dolls smiles. “Deal.” 

They do not bother to run the new plan past Nicole, but she is not surprised when Dolls announces he will be joining her.

Each sub team only has a vague idea of the correct direction, based entirely on Wynonna and Nicole’s memories of Waverly’s hand-drawn city plans.

It is not enough to go on, not really, but if there is anyone who can engineer their own rescue plan via archaeological know-how, then it is Waverly Earp. 

They each take a radio with them; Black Badge’s super-tech will allow them to communicate even below ground.

They part with very few words and little more to their name than a grim sense of determination. Failure here simply is not an option. There is far too much at stake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think we're really moving along now! writing action-heavy chapters always scares me, but i think i'm getting into the swing of it a bit more now. 
> 
> unfun fact from my tortured and completely haphazard writing process: wynonna/nicole is one of my fave dynamics to picture/plan out and yet one of the dynamics i'm somehow most terrified of writing as i always think i don't quite hit the mark. their argument in the car was kind of fun in a mean way though, esp to mirror some of that tension in early s2, plus that later scene where wynonna asks dolls to keep nicole safe.
> 
> also, something i’d be interested to get responses on, is the whole mummy magic trick type deal (more of that to come next chapter too aaaargh). i know i spend a lot of my commentary half-jokingly calling this a “dumb fic” (which it is and i wholeheartedly lean into that), but some of the stuff the mummy does is just sooo flamboyant and theatrically ott that it’s hard to know where to draw the line when writing. like??? okay imhotep we get it, you can do neat tricks. 
> 
> (oh, and sidenote: i know absolutely nothing about choppers, much less Fictional Covert Agency Choppers, and googling ‘crash course in helicopters’ felt somewhat crass. i hope that stuff all felt at least slightly authentic.) 
> 
> finally – i hope you’re all happy that doc and rosita are okay! (yknow, if we’re defining helicopter crashes as ‘okay’). anyone who has seen my twitter for even two seconds knows that rosita/tamara are the loves of my life (tied with wave and nicole and kat and especially dpc…don’t judge me i just have a lot of love to give) and after all the injustices that rosie has suffered in canon, i could never harm even a hair on her head so i’m p sure no one is surprised. i really didn’t know what to do about doc…after finally writing an au where his character could organically be worked in i just felt really bad killing him off tbh, even if it did make more sense in the narrative!! but i didn’t want to kill him, so i’m working with partially-regenerated mummy and currently still-alive doc, which is not a sentence i ever anticipated writing down.
> 
> okay, i think i’ve managed to justify most of the weirdness for today so that’s my cue to leave. i am always honoured to receive your comments, and am very thankful for all the good birthday/tattoo vibes from last week. the former is on wednesday and tbh i’m not looking forward to being even more of an old lady, the latter is much less itchy now after nearly two weeks. 
> 
> that’s all for now (thank you to anja as ever!!) much love and look after yourselves!!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the team must learn to fight together, if they are to escape with their lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! so it seems like things just keep on getting busier for everyone, myself included! uploading this week has been a bit of a struggle and i'm just happy i have this chapter ready to go for you all, even if my notes are going to be pretty limited.
> 
> as ever, thank you to everyone who is reading and interacting with this fic. i can't get my head around how lovely your comments are and how kind you all are for asking about making artwork for this!! 
> 
> i also can't quite believe there's only 2 more chapters to go! this chapter is probably the last that bears any resemblance to the mummy movie, and the next parts are just me having fun in working out how to tie things together because (spoiler alert!) i wasn't content to leave them just ambiguously riding away - where's the fun in that?!
> 
> okay, without further ado - here we gooo!

If there is one thing Waverly can say with certainty it is that _Imhotep_ just keeps on adding insult to injury.

It quickly becomes evident that he always had every advantage, no matter what Waverly and Nicole had tried to plan out.

_Imhotep_ travels faster, he has superhuman powers, and of course he already knew everything about Hamunaptra.

For all the time it would have taken Nicole and Wynonna to find their way around again, _Imhotep_ navigated on muscle memory alone.

Then, when things are already bad enough, it transpires that he can resurrect - and _control_ \- some rather unsavoury undead allies too.

Because of course he can.

He marches deeper and deeper underground, Bobo and Waverly trailing behind, by the light of an ancient torch. Even this, he had ignited with only a single, careless glamour.

He walks with increasing purpose the further underground they advance, stopping only once in the very middle of an oddly-shaped corridor.

The paths have been narrow all the way down except for this lone, widened cavern with a strange, bulging shape in one of the walls. The resultant area is almost too large to count as a corridor, but still not spacious enough to be a chamber.

Try as she might, Waverly cannot fathom it out.

Then, without any warning, _Imhotep_ begins chanting a remarkably short incantation, given its eventual effect. In fact, Waverly just has time to read the wall inscriptions nearest to them, which tell of the priests who aided the priest in his first attempt to resurrect the Queen.

Their eventual punishment - the small and breezy process of mummification whilst alive - is described almost carelessly, as though by the time of writing it the _Hom-Dai_ has eclipsed all else.

Still, Waverly shudders. It is no easier to stomach the casual tone, even after all she has experienced.

She had never even heard of Egyptians mummifying people alive before, and she knows that while these men would have died more quickly than _Imhotep_ , they would still have been in agony. Morticians (if indeed trained men had even been sought) would undoubtedly have removed their organs one-by-one, presumably until their bodies simply gave out.

Waverly has no idea how much pain the priests’ bodies might have endured, but even one second of that torture was too much to contemplate.  

In fact, she is now utterly sick of hearing tell of punishments that seem disproportionate to people’s crimes. 

Suffering becomes self-perpetuating, it seems, and she is almost ready now to simply be free of it all.

In the meantime, however, _Imhotep_ seems completely unphased by all of it. He does not even open the Black Book as she chants his spell and Waverly realises that this is another advantage he always had over them.

Truly, they did not stand a chance.

Indeed, even as she suspects the nature of _Imhotep_ ’s current magic, Waverly can scarcely bring herself to care. All she can think about, despite every effort to the contrary, is Wynonna and Nicole.

She imagines the crash over and over; it is impossible not to.

The not seeing, the not _knowing_ , makes it harder because alongside a dull ache in her chest there is also a tiny, unruly flicker of hope beneath her ribs and it is a dangerous thing. The idea that Wynonna and Nicole might have survived is not enough to reignite the fire in her belly but it is enough to ease her mind for what is to come.

And maybe the others would want her to fight, but Waverly is not sure how to do that now.

Moreover, the last word of _Imhotep_ ’s spell echoes around them before Waverly can even formulate anything resembling a plan. It is followed by a chilling noise from behind the strange, bulging wall.

It starts as a weak, quiet scratching sound and gets louder and more frantic, until, eventually the thin walls seem to undulate with it. Chips of paint and ancient plaster begin cascading to the floor like confetti before the wall starts to give way entirely.

Finally, at least twenty or thirty mummies break free along the length of the corridor.

These men, at least, resemble the mummies to which Waverly is accustomed; dry and dusty and decomposed in the usual manner. Still, they are as grotesque in their own ways as _Imhotep_ had once been. Each one is curled up, unpleasant and fetus-like, in a small, hollow gap within the walls.

They remind Waverly somehow of dead spiders, limbs curled awkwardly inwards towards their torsos as if in an eternal convulsion. The comparison only strengthens as the mummies gradually start to move, unfurling each stiff limb with no small amount of difficulty.

It is evident from their movements that they were not cursed as _Imhotep_ had been, and they are not resurrected in the same way, only re-animated instead. It is like watching a group of hellish, ancient mannequins move slowly and painfully, and Waverly feels her skin crawl in revulsion.

The priests climb awkwardly out of the walls and onto their dried-out, bandaged feet and assemble in one line before crouching into the closest approximation of a bow their old bones can manage.

As stomach-churning as it all looks, they do appear to be somewhat limited in their abilities. However, after all this time, Waverly would not think to underestimate these new priests just yet.  

_Imhotep_ inclines his head curtly before instructing some of his priests to watch over the city. The rest, it seems, will be joining them.

It takes a moment before Waverly realises that _Imhotep_ probably needs help for the sacrifice. The thought does not chill her blood now like it might once have done.

The priests nod and some walk away, looking arthritic and stiff. Waverly wonders idly if they can feel any pain. They are clearly only _Imhotep_ ’s strange, ancient marionettes and they certainly should not have any nerves or pain receptors left. On the other hand, however, they also should not be walking around or following instructions, so again the train of thought is fruitless.  

Still, it keeps her thinking of Wynonna or Nicole for a few moments.

Beside her, Bobo urges her to start walking again, his face blank and mostly unreadable.

They follow the light of _Imhotep_ ’s torch, still descending further below ground via a route that Waverly had never managed to uncover. She does her best to remember each turn but they walk for a long time and it becomes impossible to remember it all. It is hard, too, to tell how far beneath the surface they go, only that the decline is steep and sandy, even down here. Ancient footsteps probably tracked sand all over the place.  

Waverly struggles occasionally in the dim light and uneven flagstones and when she loses her footing for the third time, _Imhotep_ sighs at the inconvenience and turns back to face her. She feels like delivering a sarcastic apology for slowing things down, but she cannot be sure that it would carry over linguistically.

Stooping to the ground, _Imhotep_ collects up a handful of sand and starts to speak again.

It takes Waverly a few moments to work out what he is doing, and by the time she realises that he is trying to incapacitate her, the magic is already at work. Her head quickly starts to feel heavy and her mind grows sluggish. She struggles against Bobo’s grip and shouts out to try and disrupt the spell, but by the time _Imhotep_ blows the sand in her direction she is already succumbing to an enchanted sleep. Her body panics, survival instinct on high alert, but her brain is already slowing down as her mind drifts towards blackness.

The last thing she perceives is _Imhotep_ lifting her easily over his shoulder like she is no more than an old ragdoll. He walks easily onwards, even while carrying her, and before he makes it even six paces Waverly is out cold.

 

 

 

 

 

When she regains consciousness, Waverly is laying flat on her back on a cold, hard surface.

The effects of the spell wear off slowly, and it takes a number of long, hard blinks to fully clear the sleep from her eyes. She tries to move and finds that she has been restrained by two heavy iron manacles. One has been attached to each of her wrists and they rattle impressively when she moves.

Immediately, she freezes again, hoping that they have not given her away. It would be nice to let _Imhotep_ think she is asleep for as long as possible.

This leaves her with a somewhat limited view of her surroundings.

Above her is a rough-hewn stone ceiling, about as high as the other rooms which is to say, not especially high. Humans’ ancient ancestors were much shorter and, as such, so were their rooms. The ceiling looks almost damp and indeed the room feels stickier and more humid than she has become accustomed to out here. There does not seem to be an obvious explanation for this, and Waverly does not want to move around too much just yet, lest the chains rattle again.

She does her best to turn only her head slowly and silently, looking arbitrarily to her right in the first instance. It is enough to reveal that she is on some kind of table or platform - stone, if the cold seeping through her clothes and down the back of her bare legs is anything to go by. Whatever it is, she seems to be about four feet off the ground.

The large, half-lit room extends outwards some way, the walls all the same unfinished, dark stone as the ceiling. They must be quite deep underground, in a dull chamber that almost feels like a cave, and the thought crosses Waverly’s mind that, once the ritual is complete, no one will ever discover what is left of her down here. 

A glance to her left, meanwhile, leaves her fighting back a surprised scream upon seeing that she has been given a new bedmate. This one, however, is far less animated or appealing than her last.

While she slept, _Imhotep_ must have retrieved the Queen’s body and laid it at Waverly’s side - all the more convenient for a good, old fashioned resurrection Waverly supposes, the thought bitter and acrid as it courses through her.

A fresh wave of reality sets in and, feeling frantic, she tries to quietly hoist herself up onto her elbows for a better view to across the main part of the room. She immediately locates _Imhotep_ . He is standing, back to Waverly and _Anck-Su-Namun_ , with the Black Book open in his hands as though it is made of light plywood. He appears to read silently to himself, seemingly calm and at ease.

Waverly takes a few deep, steadying breaths. 

_Okay,_ she tells herself, _escape route_.

She tries again, to make sense of the room around her.

It seems to be sparsely decorated save for a large, rectangular structure directly in the centre. It looks to Waverly like a pool, filled with a dark, glassy liquid that almost appears to be black in the low light. The little lip of the pool is shallow, barely five inches high, but there is no indication of how deep the pool might run underground.

Waverly watches as _Imhotep_ stands right at the edge, occasionally gazing into the pool’s depths as he turns a page.

There is no indication of any doorway on the other side of the pool, only lots of exposed rock mingled in with that strange, dark stone. From Waverly’s current perspective, the pool is to her left and there is very little to her right. Directly in front of her is only more rock and stone, save for a steep stone staircase that curves out of sight; Waverly cannot tell where it might lead.

This leaves her to assume that the exit might be behind her, but an unfortunate rattle of her chains gives her away before she can test the theory.  

_Imhotep_ turns in time to see her sat up on her elbows and her heart sinks. 

He does not speak to her, only smiles hungrily before returning to his reading.

It occurs to Waverly that there is only perhaps one thing left in her arsenal; _Imhotep_ ’s own confidence. Arrogance practically shimmers from his skin like a heat haze, and he almost certainly has not bothered to consider a turn of events in which Waverly fights back.

She turns next to examine her shackles. They are aged and covered in rust, and it is hard to say whether they are particularly strong. However, they give out an ugly grinding sound with even the tiniest movement from Waverly - any attempt to slip her wrists free would be instantly detected. She would have similar problems in trying to unpin the cuffs from the stone table.

The only conclusion she can draw under the pressure of the situation is that any break for freedom would need to be extremely hasty. This, though, seems to be entirely by-the-by as _Imhotep_ finally turns to face her, evidently ready to move proceedings forward.

He steps closer to the altar, chanting softly as he moves.

Behind him, something seems to stir at the sound of his voice and Waverly watches in mute horror as the pool’s black liquid responds like a snake in a basket. It surges, swirling like a whirlpool, and its movement brings with it a chorus of low moans that seems to emanate directly from the centre of the pool.

Somehow, Waverly understands what is happening before she is really willing to accept that it is real.

_Imhotep_ starts out softly, but the closer he gets to summoning _Anck-Su-Namun_ ’s soul back from the dark underworld, the more feverish he becomes. He chants louder, his eyes grow more wild, and his face becomes that of a man possessed.

Watching dark, formless shapes try to break free from the pool makes Waverly’s head spin but she cannot seem to tear her eyes away from the spectacle in front of her. Gradually one soul, although Waverly hesitates to call it that, seems to rise closer and closer to the surface.

It can only be the Queen, growing more powerful as the dark liquid - which Waverly now sees is a barrier between the worlds - struggles to keep the soul contained.

Something in Waverly snaps at this spectral sight and she stirs from a kind of stationary shock to an active panic. She struggles openly against the manacles, finding them better fixed into the table than she had anticipated. The jagged, rusty iron snags at the skin of her wrists as she writhes about, and she slices open her right arm in the process.

A surprising amount of red blood oozes slowly down her hand, smearing under the cuff of the manacle.  

Without even a glimmer of concern at Waverly’s attempts to break loose, _Imhotep_ advances slowly towards the table. He collects an ancient but very freshly sharpened knife from the other side of Queen’s body, and Waverly feels a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck.

She had thought herself ready for this after what happened to Wynonna and Nicole, but she had not accounted for her body’s instinctual will to survive; the panic becomes all-consuming. 

Still chanting without seeming to draw breath - probably, he does not need to - _Imhotep_ sets the book to one side and takes the blade’s polished ivory hilt in both hands. He raises the knife aloft, inviting the Queen’s soul into Waverly’s body.

Even while she rattles at her handcuffs, Waverly squeezes her eyes shut, determined not to watch when he finally brings the blade downwards. The very last thing she sees is the amorphous black cloud of the Queen’s soul as it breaks free from the pool and drifts towards the nearest sources of life.

_Imhotep_ recites the verse Waverly herself had once read aloud, before adding, in the ancient tongue - 

“ _And with your death,_ Anck-Su-Namun _shall live_.”

Even as her body panics, Waverly does her best to latch on to the dreamlike quality to what is currently happening. None of this feels quite real. 

She cannot say that this is a nightmare come to life, because she could never have imagined this as something that might one day happen to her. Even now, it does not register as part of her own life.

It is better not to think of what will come, and she puts her all of her focus solely on what - or rather who - is really worth thinking about now, if this is to be the end.

_Wynonna and Nicole_.

A specific memory in particular pushes itself to the fore. In a time before the mummy the three of them sit around their campsite fire one night, Hamunaptra no more than a silhouette behind them. They laugh together, all of them consumed entirely by it, as Wynonna and Nicole have one of their absurd verbal sparring matches. The two of them trade silly insults back and forth, until neither of them can speak properly though their laughter.

Waverly remembers more vividly than anything the way that Wynonna cracks herself up as she tries to make a new joke about Nicole’s surname. She must have been working on it for a while, but she is too drunk and too happy to even reach the punchline. Wynonna’s laugh sounds, if anything, mischievous and discordant, but it is something to be treasured.

Beside Wynonna, Nicole sits with her hair glowing in the firelight. There are tears on her cheeks and Waverly remembers how she was even bold enough to brush a stray droplet away.

It is all so vivid that she lets the memory take her away entirely, lets the sound of _Imhotep_ ’s spell fade to nothing. In fact, it is almost as though she really can hear Wynonna’s voice in the room with her. It is nice, comforting even, as she waits for it all to be over.  

And so she waits. She waits, and she waits a little longer. 

Indeed, the delay extends more than she could possibly have expected. She knows that _Imhotep_ must be savouring the moment, but he is taking an incongruously long time.

It takes so long, in fact, that the memory slips between Waverly’s fingers and the dread starts to creep back.

Wynonna’s voice, however, does not fade with the memory and Waverly realises with a jolt of shock that what she had been hearing was not an illusion. It is also far less poetic than Waverly had been imagining.

“Take that you reincarnated asshole, you don’t send an Earp down that easily.”

Waverly opens her eyes, hurriedly sitting up as far as the handcuffs allow. Sure enough, she can see Wynonna standing at the top of those mysterious stairs, holding something above her head like an athlete with a trophy.

It glints gold in the light of one of the ancient torches, and both Waverly and _Imhotep_ understand at the same time.

_“The book of Amun-Ra_ ,” Imhotep growls to himself, spell faltering for the first time. He sets the knife back down beside the Black Book. Very slowly he begins to advance in Wynonna’s direction.  

“Waverly!” Wynonna shouts, voice echoing across the room. “Are you seeing this kiddo?”

Waverly laughs, breathy and careless and relieved. Wynonna is _alive_ \- it is more than Waverly had dared to hope for.

“I’m seeing it!” she shouts back, voice echoing off the walls.

“I found it, Wave! I found it!” Wynonna cheers, barely giving _Imhotep_ a second glance.

Wynonna’s interference has an impressive but terrifying dual effect; it makes _Imhotep_ quietly furious and it proves a huge setback to his spell.

Souls, it would seem, are not designed to hover in mid-air for too long. Suspended in limbo, the one belonging to the Queen appears to be in need of a host at any cost. 

Waverly’s soul is mercifully still enshrined in her own body, as is _Imhotep_ ’s (assuming that he still has one), and so the Queen’s soul does the only thing it can; it returns to its old home.  

Seeing the black form settle over the lifeless mummified body, Waverly already knows what to expect. Nonetheless, she jumps out of her skin when the Queen awakes beside her with a high-pitched scream that would have made a banshee blush.

_Anck-Su-Namun_ takes a moment, and then she slowly turns her dried, bandaged face towards Waverly.

The Queen must sense Waverly because, like the mummified priests, her eyes have long since decomposed. Although this makes it impossible to be caught in her gaze, her sightless expression still has Waverly feeling desperate to run for the hills.

She resumes her earlier efforts to break free with a new sense of hope. There is now a dull ache in the spot where she cut her wrist earlier, but Waverly fights harder than ever, aware that she has something to fight _for_.

_Imhotep_ turns and watches in horror as the Queen’s mummy struggles with her new (well, old) and unruly body, before his eyes track to Waverly. He cannot pursue both sisters at once - even he does not possess the power to split his body in two - and it is clear that he must prioritise the recovery of the Gold Book.

Waverly feels a flare of panic on Wynonna’s behalf but before she can cry out a warning, a hand - a warm, non-mummified one - unexpectedly closes over her mouth, its owner just outside of Waverly’s field of vision. She writhes in panic, wondering what else could possibly go wrong until Nicole’s face swims into sight, pressing the index finger of her free hand against her lips in a plea for quiet.

No matter the current carnage, Waverly’s heart soars high to see her.

_They are both alive,_ comes the internal cry over and over _._  

She tries to piece events together, realising that Nicole must have stolen under the table while both Waverly and _Imhotep_ were listening to Wynonna. For the first time, Waverly sees her sister’s performance for what it truly is: a diversion.  

Understandably, Nicole stares down in concern for a moment, but Waverly cannot help but beam. Not only do they now have a fighting chance again, but both Nicole and Wynonna are here with her. They blissfully, _beautifully_ alive. Waverly could kiss them or, failing that, she could happily cry at the sight of them.

More than likely, she will do both at some point.

Completely unperturbed by the Queen’s mummy (it is all par for the course now), Nicole joins Waverly in wrestling at the iron chains and their combined effort eventually breaks them both loose.

The screech of iron on granite makes _Anck-Su-Namun_ howl in anger, but with Nicole's arms warm and solid around her, pulling her to her feet, Waverly barely registers it.

When she is finally back on her feet, Waverly watches as Nicole silently checks her over. She is searching for any injuries, Waverly knows that, but it is clear that Nicole is awarding herself the luxury of simply _seeing_ Waverly too. 

Waverly understands it, because she cannot help but eagerly drink in the sight of Nicole, noting a nasty cut on her forehead and a bandage around her hand.

“What happened?” she asks softly, bringing her hand up to Nicole’s head to brush her fingers gently against the cut. The shackles weigh her arms down as she moves and she can only hope they can remove them sooner rather than later. She must be a bruised mess beneath the thick metal cuffs. 

“Crash landing,” Nicole answers, half-amused. “Waves listen, I am so, so sorry about leaving you I never should ha- ”

“Hey, _ssh_ , none of that,” Waverly says, cutting her off with as commanding a tone as possible. This is not the time for unnecessary apologies.

Nicole has nothing to be sorry for, and Waverly needs her to understand that. Words seem insufficient so she stretches up to kiss Nicole instead. Their lips meet and Waverly grasps at Nicole’s neck, her jaw, her cheeks as she searches for any contact she can find, even if it is just for the briefest of moments.

Nicole kisses back, her lips firm and earnest. Her fingers bite lightly at Waverly’s hips, pulling her close. It heartens Waverly to feel the way Nicole yearns for contact too, and any slight brush of their bodies is a comforting beyond description. 

After all that has happened since their fraught separation, this one single, stolen moment is enough to raise their spirits again for the fight to come.

They break apart quickly, aware that they do not have time to prolong the embrace, no matter how much they might want to.

A peal of gunfire immediately draws Waverly’s attention across the room, just in time to see Dolls appear from somewhere and fire off a round in _Imhotep_ ’s direction.

“Waves we need to get you and that book into the same space,” Nicole tells her urgently, both of them keenly aware that their undead friends will put up a fight. Already, all hell has broken loose as another commotion makes itself known at the chamber’s main doorway. Doc bursts in, shielding Jeremy and Rosita as he tries to take on two of _Imhotep_ ’s priests.

Waverly catches Nicole’s eye, asking an unspoken question about Doc and Rosita.

“Yeah,” Nicole says immediately. “Rosita just jumped right in and we persuaded Doc eventually. Well, your sister did. Actually, I think he secretly has a soft spot f- _holy shit_!”

There is no time for Waverly to question the verbal about face as Nicole bodily drags her away from the stone table. Just in the nick of time, Waverly sees the mummified Queen lashing outwards, missing Waverly by a hair’s breadth.

Evidently, they had vastly underestimated _Anck-Su-Namun,_ who had not only successfully found her bearings but also _Imhotep’s_ knife in the process. Indeed, she had blindly attempted to plunge it into Waverly’s back. Had it not been for Nicole’s quick reflexes, she would have succeeded.

“It’s almost like you did something to piss her off,” Nicole jokes as she leads them both way, even now not especially worried about the Queen. She is severely disadvantaged and, even armed, is somehow still the least of their problems.

They make a beeline around the chamber’s perimeter, trying to avoid being seen by _Imhotep_ for as long as possible. He is still distracted by Dolls and Wynonna, the latter of whom has also found a gun and started firing at their adversary for good measure.

The bullets just about keep him at bay, but where they pierce him they draw no blood and cannot truly wound him; at worst, his fresh new skin simply turns back to the aged, rotting mummy flesh for a moment before healing over again.

Eventually, he grows bored with the glancing, ineffectual attack against him and turns his attention back towards the stone table.

Finding absolutely no one where he left them, he is quick to search for Waverly, picking her out immediately. With a quick command he directs his other priests away from Jeremy, Rosita, and Doc, ordering them towards Waverly and Nicole instead.

“Go,” Nicole tells her urgently, eyes on the two ancient men hobbling towards them. They hardly look threatening, but they must have been endowed with some of _Imhotep_ ’s superhuman powers to have lasted even this long. “I’ll deal with these guys, just get to Wynonna.”

Waverly looks doubtful, and it makes Nicole smile.

“Oh no you don’t,” she chides gently. “You had your noble moment before and it totally worked. This is mine now. Trust _me_ this time, okay?”

Waverly gives a quick shake of her head. “I trusted you - and Wynonna - last time, that’s why I went with him. And I know what I did was selfish and reckless but - ”

“Let’s save this for later, yeah?” Nicole suggests. “Because if you think you want _me_ to hear this, then just wait until your sister gets to you.”

Waverly winces. “Really quickly, scale of one to ten: how mean was she?” 

“Eight billion, but it was no more than I deserved,” Nicole deadpans, removing a pistol from her belt and firing an effortless shot at one of _Imhotep_ ’s priests. Impressively, it hits home without her even looking - the mummy gives a whine when the bullet takes a heap of dead flesh and blackened wrappings out of its arm.

“Now go face your sister’s wrath.”

Waverly knows that this is a joke and she is not at all surprised that Wynonna does not show too much anger when they eventually reunite.

Dolls and Doc both move to cover Waverly against _Imhotep_ the rest of the way around the room, and she is grateful for the help. Like Nicole, both are impressive shots, and Waverly kind of wishes she had the chance to fully appreciate how _almost_ cool this situation can be when things actually goes their way.

Wynonna takes her own chances down the steps so that she can meet her sister halfway. Once in touching distance, Wynonna throws her arms around Waverly  momentarily and the solid gold book in her hand clacks painfully against Waverly’s back, although it hardly matters.

“Don’t do that to me again,” Wynonna says into Waverly’s ear, her voice thick. “I thought I was gonna be all on my own. I _need_ my baby sister, okay?”  

Waverly buries her nose in Wynonna’s hair for a moment, remembering how they had held each other just like this after Willa’s funeral.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, feeling choked up. “I just wanted to stop you guys getting hurt.” 

“I know, Nicole told me,” Wynonna admits, a guilty timbre creeping into her voice at the mention of Nicole’s name.

Looking pale, Jeremy scrambles over. “Yeah, guys, you might want to do this later, sorry to interrupt and all.”

“Right, got it,” Wynonna agrees, pulling away just as Dolls arrives too. “So, good news: we have the book. Bad news: that asshole still has the key. Dolls said he and Nicole would try and retrieve it.” They all glance in Nicole’s direction, watching as she battles against two mummies at once. “Having said that, she does seem kind of caught up. Who the hell _are_ these guys, anyway?”  

Waverly explains the situation with _Imhotep_ ’s fellow priests and Wynonna’s frowns in disapproval.

“God, could this get any more messed up?” she observes and Waverly shrugs.

“Probably,” she says, aware that it was a rhetorical question but keen that they don’t fall back on the ‘at least things can’t get any worse’ mentality. Things were demonstrably getting worse on an almost relentless basis. 

“Yeah, fair point,” Wynonna concedes. 

“So what’s the next move?” Waverly asks, directing the question at both Wynonna and Dolls simultaneously. 

“The book is useless without the key,” Wynonna replies and Dolls nods gravely.

“We’re going to have to knuckle down and just do our best to retrieve it from the big guy. That’s going to have to be on me and Agent Haught - we’re at least kind of trained for this. Meantime, can you guys try to keep the rest of them under control?” he asks, handing Waverly a spare weapon without hesitation. 

“Trust me, these shit tickets don’t even know what’s about to hit them,” she assure Dolls, getting ready for a well-earned grudge match.

“Oh you know I love it when you say ‘shit ticket’,” Wynonna tells her approvingly and Waverly grins.

Dolls stalks off just as Nicole manages to shake off both of the mummies, who are so old and inept that they practically fall apart with every punch she delivers. Once completely free of her assailants she joins Dolls and together they eye up _Imhotep_ as they clearly try to decide how best to retrieve the key.

Waverly has already assured them it is stowed inside his robes which, as setbacks go, is a pretty sizeable problem.

Worse still, is that _Imhotep_ himself is almost impossible to access. His mummified priests - as weak and defenceless as they are - easily outnumber the room’s contingent of mortals. The mummies won’t even allow Nicole and Dolls to get close to their leader, who himself seems rather happy to wait for them to expend their energy. 

As soon as Dolls and Nicole approach, the other mummies swarm around them. Some have picked up old spears and knives on their travels, presumably from statues or from the treasure room that Waverly and the team have yet to locate.

The priests brandish their weapons at Nicole and Dolls and although they lack skill and direction, they come remarkably close to getting a lucky strike in every so often.

It is hard, too, for the remainder of the team to shoot at the priests for fear of hitting Nicole or Dolls instead. Even Doc, with all his trickshots, is reluctant to fire when he eventually joins them.

Jeremy point blank refuses to pick up a gun, insistent that he failed his exams and would be more of a liability than a help. Rosita surprises everyone by fishing a weapon from one of their bags and hitting her target on the first shot.

“Huh,” she says, looking at the gun in surprise, “that’s cool.”

She fires again and again, taking out mummies almost every time. 

“Hey, Waverly,” Wynonna calls urgently as she crouches low to reload her gun. Her position has brought her to eye-level with the pile of rubble on which she carelessly tossed the Book and something catches her eye on the back cover. “Doesn’t this inscription say something about priests?”

Waverly scans the book from a standing position, trying to get in a good shot at one of mummies, who currently has Dolls in a chokehold. Dolls does not seem especially perturbed by this turn events, but it is something of a hindrance nonetheless. 

She chances a few glances at the book as she waits for an opportune moment to fire, eventually picking out the verse. Tentatively, Wynonna reads the first few words aloud, testing out her speaking skills in the old language. 

“ _Wynonna_ no,” Waverly says, horrified. As impressed as she is with the pronunciation Wynonna manages, caution is better late than never. “Learn from my mistakes, yeah? In fact, let’s make a pact that we won’t just go reading out random inscriptions from ancient books ever again.”

“But look what happens,” Wynonna protests, and sure enough with every syllable she reads aloud, the mummies seem to fall back a little further.

Waverly sighs as she reads over the book’s back cover. Clearly, parts of the text had been created following the punishment carried out against _Imhotep_ and his priests; it is likely that, for the law enforcers of the day, the situation had been completely unprecedented. They must have put in as many failsafes as they could manage.

“Fine, but from the looks of things you’re going to have finish that inscription now - ” 

“No problem,” Wynonna insists.

 “- so that you can control them yourself.”

Wynonna groans. “Okay slight problem.”

Waverly raises an eyebrow.

“Need I remind you of why we are all here today,” Wynonna points out, but it is clear that she is joking. No one will admit it but, at this moment in time they are kind of enjoying feeling like action heroes.

“ _Fine_. But you now you’ve started this, it has to be you.” 

Again, Wynonna gives another theatrical groan.

“ _Ugh_. You have got to be kidding me - I did not sign up to control these idiots.”

“Technically, y-”

“I _know_ , Waverly,” Wynonna says, turning resignedly back to the book and reading slowly on.

With every word _Imhotep_ ’s control on the priests loosens and he quickly catches on to what is happening. He tries to instruct the mummies to double down on their onslaught, and they convene on Nicole and Dolls with renewed urgency while their leader sets his sights on Doc.

He is the last person who opened the chest, and if _Imhotep_ can get close enough to him, he will regenerate fully. This would be the final nail in the coffin for the rest of the group too, and Waverly knows they need to change tack slightly. 

On her orders, Jeremy, Rosita, and Wynonna, close ranks; looking out for one another as best they can, but particularly keen that _Imhotep_ cannot get to Doc.   

It is a good plan, if things would only stop going wrong but Waverly supposes it is par for the course when fighting people who are technically already dead.

For the second time, _Anck-Su-Namun_ appears behind Waverly, fumbling at her shoulder in an attempt to hold her still. Waverly cries out, whirling round and out of the Queen’s grip just in time to dodge the knife in her other hand.  

_Anck-Su-Namun_ swings the knife blindly and Waverly ducks awkwardly every time, her back protesting with each bend.  

“Well this just keeps getting better and better,” Jeremy cries as he too is forced to dodge the Queen’s assault, so wild is each swing of the knife.

“I am so fed up of goddamn mummies,” Rosita agrees with venom, aiming a shot at the Queen. 

The bullet blasts directly through her chest with a horrible thunk against the dead flesh and brittle bone there. The force of it sends her flying backwards for a moment and gives Waverly enough time to suggest they split up. 

“Isn’t that the opposite of what you just said?” Jeremy cries.

“Yeah well,” Waverly pauses as she is forced to dodge the knife again. “I’m adapting,” another swing, “to the situation.”

Rosita shoots again, and the mummy is momentarily forced backwards once more.

“Worst. Deja vu. Ever,” Rosita says haughtily from behind a cloud of gunsmoke. 

“It’s me this mummy’s after,” Waverly says, trying to catch her breath. “Well, both of them technically. But look - if Wynonna can finish the spell then she can set the priests on _Anck-Su-Namun_. Two birds, one stone right?”

Wynonna looks sceptical and both sisters start slightly when Doc sides with Waverly.

“She’s right, Wynonna. Get yourself out of the way -and you too, Agent,” he says, turning to Jeremy. “I’ll get myself to higher ground, cover all of you as best I can. Rosita?”

Rosita glances at the gun, then at Doc.

“Well, I can’t really do much else right now, can I?” she asks, but it is clear from her tiny, hesitant grin that she is getting into the swing of things too. She catches Waverly’s eye and they both share a knowing, wry look.

This isn’t fun exactly, but damn if it doesn’t feel cool as hell.    

“Just don’t let her catch you,” Doc advises Waverly, not waiting for further discussion. Instead, he adjusts his hat and starts to scale the nearest stone platform. 

Behind him, Rosita sighs and stuffs her gun - safety firmly on - between her belt and the waistband of her jeans before starting to climb.

“What, like you couldn’t have taken the stairs?”

In the meantime, Waverly does not need to be told twice to hightail it away from the Queen, and she makes a break for it right as _Anck-Su-Namun_ lunges for her again. Waverly shoots off on an unspecified route while, somehow, the mummy follows in hot pursuit; she moves surprisingly fast for a dead woman.

Halfway across the room, Waverly can see that Nicole is having trouble of her own.

She seems to be surrounded by three priests, each of them hounding her with a spear or, in one inexplicable case, a scythe. But even as Waverly checks in on Nicole, Rosita manages to take one priest out from her new vantage point. She seems to have a new, very effective tactic as two of her bullets blast through the priest’s mummified legs. The structural integrity of his limbs being what it is, they disengage from his torso, rendering him pretty much useless.

Valiant to the end, he tries to grab at Nicole’s ankles as he lays on the ground, but she simply stamps down onto his hands like he is nothing more than a cockroach. Even then, with the priests after her life, something like guilt still flashes across Nicole’s face when she crushes ancient bones beneath her feet.

She glances around the room to work out where her assistance had come from and eventually she picks out Doc and Rosita, tipping them a small nod of gratitude.

Dolls, meanwhile, is conspicuous by his absence, but Waverly is aware of the sounds of a struggle in the distance, likely coming from a small antechamber somewhere.

They are all occupied with something, but they seem to be making precious little ground. For her own part, there is little more Waverly can do than divert the Queen’s attention until Wynonna finishes the incantation. The idea of being live bait is hardly an appealing one, but she throws herself into it as best she can.

After a delay that is lengthy enough to make Waverly regret every cardio day she has ever missed at the gym, she hears Wynonna shout out from somewhere in the gloom. 

“Waverly!” 

“ _What_?” she grits out, suddenly reminded of every half-argument they had ever shared as teenagers, shouting across the house at one another.

Wynonna’s voice echoes back across the room. Somewhere beneath the sound, Jeremy is also audible. “I can’t figure out this last symbol!”

“Well, what does it look like?” Waverly calls back, struggling to find the breath to both run and shout at the same time.

During her momentary lapse of concentration, _Anck-Su-Namun_ gains some ground and manages to latch a cold, bandaged hand around Waverly’s neck from behind. With her other hand, the Queen tries blindly to drive the knife into any part of Waverly she can find.

Waverly’s hands go up, instinctively grabbing at the arm wielding the knife, scrabbling to hold the attack at bay.

Oblivious to the problem, Wynonna shouts back, “it’s a, uh, a bird. A stork!” 

Waverly tries to reply, struggling to speak against the fingers currently crushing her larynx.

Summoning what is left of her strength, Waverly barges against the Queen with all her might, shouldering her roughly backwards. She crashes into a large stone statue, so eroded that Waverly can no longer tell who it once depicted. It crumbles further, sending a cloud of debris and cobwebs down over _Anck-Su-Namun_. Amongst the shower of dust, one particularly large rock traps the Queen her by the arm, giving Waverly a chance to escape.

“ _Ahmenephus_ ,” she husks out, throat now scratchy and sore. She forces herself to run again, ignoring the scream of the muscles in her legs and instead ploughing forwards in the direction of Wynonna’s voice.

“ _Oh_ ,” she hears Wynonna say, in the manner that would accompany a palm to the forehead. “Yes I see now.”  

Just as Wynonna is reading out the last of the incantation a cry from the centre of the room halts Waverly in her tracks. She skids to a stop just in time to see one of the priests trip Nicole flat onto her back. She falls with a force that turns Waverly’s stomach, and the priest and four cronies converge over her immediately, their weapons flashing in the low light.

Nicole braces herself and brings her arms up to protect her head, but even from a distance Waverly can see that it is much, much too late. Completely unbidden, Waverly hears herself scream. 

Then, seemingly in slow motion, two things happen at once. 

The point of the first priest’s spear pokes roughly into Nicole’s cheek, and the last syllable of Wynonna’s spell echoes around the chamber.

The mummified priests freeze on the spot and the room hangs in terse silence, all other actions momentarily put on pause. 

Waverly watches as Nicole cautiously opens one eye and then, satisfied that she is still in one piece, she slowly opens the other eye too. With confusion written all over her face, she stares up silently at the motley crew above her.

Waverly stays rooted to the spot, hardly daring to breathe. Every sinew in her body, every tiny inner instinct, presses her to run to Nicole but she does not dare move in case the priests somehow change their minds. 

The truth of the matter, however, is that they are not subject to free will - indeed they do not even have complete brains left - and they have a new master now.

Slowly, all the priests straighten up and step away from Nicole, assembling in one line beside those of their comrades who have not yet been reduced to dust. Their numbers look to be about halved, but that is still more than enough.

Furious at their disobedience, _Imhotep_ shouts at them repeatedly to kill Nicole, but it falls entirely on deaf ears.  

Wynonna’s language is unsure and clumsy by comparison, but she is more than capable of ordering _Imhotep_ ’s priests to send _Anck-Su-Namun_ back to hell.  

The Queen has only just managed to extricate herself from beneath the old statue, and Waverly would feel sorry for her if it weren’t for the thick, bruising pain in her throat. 

The priests, however, are not beleaguered with emotions or remorse, and they advance as quickly as their withered old bodies will carry them. The Queen has barely righted herself before she is surrounded.

Had _Imhotep_ had his way, she would soon have been mistress to the priests but instead, they simply ignore her shrieks and pull her back towards the gateway to the underworld.

When _Anck-Su-Namun_ is dragged past, Wynonna mutters coldly, “I hope you’ve made your peace.”  

All the same, Waverly cannot deny that it is rather unpleasant to watch the Queen writhe and struggle, much more to see the merciless way that the priests plunge their weapons into her torso. 

Again, Waverly fights a wave of empathy until Wynonna joins her and pointedly passes a gentle hand across a glancing cut on Waverly’s cheek. 

Waverly nods. The usual rules of morality cannot apply here.

She smiles a little sadly at Wynonna. “I knew you could do it.”

Wynonna rolls her eyes and gives a dismissive wave of her hand.

“It’s nothing compared to the stuff you know.”

Waverly shakes her head, but there is no time to rest or share a tender moment, as _Imhotep_ is already running towards the chaos. He tries in vain to save his love, but the priests have already thrown her to the pool and slowly, she is consumed by the strange black waters of the world below.

In spite of all the terrible things _Imhotep_ has done, the pain he exhibits then is something Waverly can understand, even if she feels very little empathy in response. It is the same pain she had felt watching that helicopter plunge to the ground.

In the blink of an eye, however, _Imhotep_ ’s pain changes in a way that Waverly’s had not. It turns into a blank look that is so dangerous Waverly is reminded of the fear she had felt the first time she set eyes on him as an animated, walking corpse.

He storms over at lightning speed, casting Waverly roughly aside with a single swipe of his arm. She goes crashing into the wall and hits her head, stars flashing before her eyes as pain smarts across her skull.

She struggles to clear her vision, although she hears as _Imhotep_ shouts at Wynonna to give him the book.  

Wynonna effectively tells him, in English, to go fuck himself and when the blackness finally fades from Waverly’s eyes, _Imhotep_ has her sister by the throat, in an awful mirror of Waverly’s earlier scuffle with _Anck-Su-Namun_. 

Only now, Wynonna has it so much worse.

_Imhotep_ is strong enough to hold her three feet off the ground and do much more serious damage to boot. Although she claws bravely at him and tries to grip at his robes, Wynonna is no match in comparison.

Waverly tries to stand, but she is still woozy and her body won’t seem to obey her. She shouts out for Wynonna, convinced of the worst, when finally Dolls rejoins them.

Since arriving back at Hamunaptra, everyone has simply been making do as best they can in a pinch and - like the mummified priests - Dolls has also resorted to pillage and plunder. He has somehow procured another old but still rather deadly-looking blade from goodness knows where. Evidently, he had run out of bullets.

Both Doc and Rosita seem to be suffering a similar problem as, from a distance, Doc fires at _Imhotep_ while Rosita visibly searches a bag for more ammunition.

Dolls calls out Wynonna’s name in concern as he barrels closer, on a clear rescue mission.

Even beneath the dark haze of pain still clouding her vision, Waverly sees how easily Dolls’ knife glides through _Imhotep_ ’s body. It is as though he is made of butter, and Wynonna drops immediately to the floor as _Imhotep_ ’s arm follows with a dull thud.

Wynonna coughs roughly into one hand, batting the decapitated limb away distastefully with the other.

At this point, it is no surprise to anyone when _Imhotep_ neither registers the injury nor bleeds from it. In fact, the stump of his arm only reveals the blackened, rotting corpse still within. It would seem that he still remains dead on the inside.

The attack does not weaken him in the slightest, rather it is almost akin to poking an angry bear. He cries out, lunging at Dolls who shoots backwards in an instant, very obviously drawing _Imhotep_ away from the sisters and giving them a moment to recover.  

Still not trusting her legs, Waverly drags herself unceremoniously across the small space separating her from Wynonna.

“Are you okay?” she asks, but Wynonna is already struggling upright, looking pained and battered, but very determined.

“Waverly,” she says, jaw set. “I’ve got it.”

From behind her back she reveals the key and Waverly cannot help but give out a small shout of triumph.

Working through the pain of their respective - and not at all dissimilar - injuries, they dive for the discarded Gold Book. Too many cooks, they bump into each other as they wrestle with the old, stiff lock and throw the book open.

Jeremy joins them, emerging bravely from whatever decent hiding place he had found.

“Sorry,” he gasps out, “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I told you to run, I’m glad you listened,” Wynonna says simply, any scope for ill-feeling between parties diminished by a common goal.

Waverly can see an end point now, can dream of a scenario in which they all escape not unharmed, exactly, but alive and ready to fight another day. (Or preferably, alive and ready to never fight anyone ever again).

Across the floor, _Imhotep_ has caught up with Dolls easily, and descends upon him with base severity. Waverly watches as Dolls puts up a half-hearted fight - all defence and no attack - in the name of keeping the creature busy.

Still from above, and unseen by Waverly, Rosita and Doc rain down as many bullets as they can find. 

Waverly physically feels the time swirl by, paced strangely since Wynonna had taken control of the priests. She gets a feeling deep in her chest as they all work together - it is raw, unhindered emotion as the realisation hits her that they have fallen into something akin to a strong, cohesive team. 

_Together, we all work,_ she realises with a sense of triumph. _He has no one at all_.  

She takes over from Wynonna in unlocking the book, leaving her sister to string together a roundabout sentence that has eight remaining priests joining Dolls as the strangest backup team in history.

Dimly, they see Nicole rush to Dolls’ side as well, pulling out all the final stops to help him beat _Imhotep_.

Neither agent wavers under _Imhotep_ ’s siege, neither turns to run; instead, they stand side by side and work together with an ease that must only have come from prolonged training and deep, unmitigated trust.

There is a moment when Nicole catches Waverly’s eye as she looks over to check on their progress with the book, and Waverly sees it there too, that same trust but this time directed at her. 

Nicole looks certain and steady, like she has no fear whatsoever in Waverly’s ability to finish this once and for all. 

Book now unlocked and primed, Waverly resolves not let any of them down.

She looks to Wynonna and finds her grinning back, dried blood flaking on her lip.

“It’s your time babygirl.” 

Hands shaking and energy draining fast, Waverly skims through the heavy gold sheets to find something, _anything_ , that looks promising.

The inscriptions are dense and just when she starts to lose her head a little in a fresh wave of panic, Waverly sees it. She cannot be sure just how she knows it is the right spell but on some base, instinctive level, she is certain even before she begins reading.

Determined to keep her voice from shaking - both from fear and from fatigue - Waverly reads the blessedly short verse.

As the words tumble forth almost of their own accord, Waverly feels a sense of excitement build within her. She cannot be sure exactly what to expect, but she imagines it must be something pretty big to take _Imhotep_ down.

She finishes the incantation and waits, the seconds ticking painfully by with no fanfare whatsoever.

Everyone seems to come to the same realisation at once.

“Nothing’s happening,” Jeremy says, voice small.

Scrabbling at the pages again, Waverly does not quite know what to say. Tears build at the back of her already sore throat, as she questions the integrity of her instincts.

She had always known it was a long shot, but she had truly believed it would work. From the crater of excitement that had drained instantly away, arises a sickening plume of unfettered terror as Waverly wonders if she has only lead all these other people to their deaths.

Dodging a punch, Dolls attracts their attention with a shout.

“Earp, I thought you said it was gonna kill him?” 

The assumption is that he is talking to Wynonna, who immediately grips her gun in one hand and aims, calling for Dolls and Nicole to get out of the way.

“I think it made him mortal,” Wynonna shouts as they both dive sideways.

Face blank and eyes focussed, she fires a single shot and they all watch as it careers outwards.

For all the times that Wynonna has joked about what she terms her piss poor aim, the bullet hits home and pierces through _Imhotep_ ’s stomach.

His eyes go wide in shock, presumably unaccustomed to feeling that much pain and with a drawn out moan he clutches for the wound with his one remaining hand.

For the first time, they see him bleed as thick red streams start seep between his fingers and pour out from his injured shoulder.

He bleeds out quickly and stumbles blindly over loose flagstones, crashing to the floor right beside the gate to the underworld. His momentum sends him crashing over the pool’s narrow lip, and he drifts downwards until he is submerged, transforming back into the mummy as he goes. 

Once he has completely disappeared, the bubbling, boiling black water settles down, apparently satisfied and ready to return to its original, glassy state.

As a quiet afterthought, Wynonna quietly commands the few remaining priests back to their tombs for eternity. Once they creep obediently away, there is only a loaded silence left amongst the room’s mortal occupants. 

No one really knows what to do as they catch their breath; there is only shock, and an ample helping of physical pain as, around them, the dust settles for the final time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh more action chapters that stress me out! i really hope this was okay, and would really value your feedback as ever.
> 
> at this point, there is really no historical clarification to give and i actually think that, for once, i've said it all in the first note. 
> 
> feel free to lmk where you think this is going, where you want it to go, whatever really - i'm excited to see if it matches up to what i have planned (which is just fluff and fluff, i promise!! there hasn't been enough these past few chapters!) 
> 
> thank you as ever to anja for checking through this - ily! 
> 
> i also love the rest of you and hopefully you all have better weeks than mine (at least, it's shaping up badly so far). oh, and thank you for the birthday wishes etc. i really appreciated them!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can i get uhhh some post-mummy pining? post-mummy longing? emotions? smooches??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! sooo we're on the penultimate chapter already! this is the part where i have to work out how to end the fic in comparison with the movie (like i said, riding off into the sunset is great but,,,that just isn't enough extra fluff for me!)
> 
> so this is basically me just having fun off-roading. i don't think i can give much more introduction than that...

Everyone shudders to a halt, hearts racing as exhaustion slowly seeps into their bones.

After a brief moment of shell-shocked stillness, Waverly and Wynonna come to their senses and hurry to check on Nicole and Dolls.

They are already slumped on the ground, taking any seat they can find. Completely spent, they look to be in rather notable amounts of pain as they sit a few feet apart, staring wordlessly into the middle distance. 

Waverly reaches Nicole first, kneeling beside her and grabbing at her arms and then her shoulders. She does her best to be gentle but needs more than anything to feel Nicole’s body against her, solid and warm and alive.

Nicole goes slack at Waverly’s touch, allowing herself to be pulled into a graceless, desperate embrace. Wordlessly, they cling together and studiously ignore the way they bump against each other’s bruises and sprains.

It hurts to be this tightly coiled together, yes, but it is a release too. 

Arriving with only slightly more decorum, Wynonna bends forward and offers Dolls a hand up.

“You alright?” Wynonna asks, and Waverly wonders how bad things must really be for her sister not to have a witty one-liner at the ready.

With one side of her face nestled beautifully against Nicole’s neck, Waverly watches the interaction with a mild, detached interest. The sound of blood rushing beneath Nicole’s skin is oddly soothing to Waverly’s ears, and she is content to sit in peace for a moment longer.

“Yeah,” Dolls replies, sounding about as awkward as Wynonna. “I think I’ll live, anyway.”

“Good,” Wynonna tells him firmly, forgetting to let go of his hand for a beat or two after he has steadied himself.

Dolls noticeably shifts his weight onto one leg, and it becomes clear that he is, in fact, not quite as ‘alright’ as he implied. From ground level, Waverly spots a large tear in his pants and sees a mess of blood and torn skin beneath.

She gasps.

“Dolls, your leg!” 

Wynonna follows Waverly’s eyeline before seeing the injury and curling her lip. 

“How does _that_ constitute being alright?”

“I’ve had worse,” Dolls says dismissively, but with an edge to his voice that suggests the comment is not quite so throwaway as he would have it seem.

Wynonna smiles. “Alright tough guy, no need to show off.”

Dolls feigns a pretentious sigh. “Hard not to, really. I did just save your life and all Earp.”

“I had it covered, okay?”

“Yeah, you could really tell by the way he had you suspended off the ground with one arm,” Dolls jokes, and Wynonna hits him on his side.

“ _Hey_ ,” he protests, rubbing at the same spot.

“Good, I hope it was already hurt,” Wynonna says, before declaring him a ‘dick’ for good measure. It is clear that she is only fooling around, however, and it is interesting for Waverly to watch her sister meet her match for the second time in recent weeks.

On which note, Waverly pulls back slightly from Nicole, enough that they can make eye contact. She leaves one hand resting on Nicole’s forearm, however, not quite ready to break contact entirely.

“And you?” she asks softly. “Any genuinely terrible injuries that you want to heroically declare as ‘not the worst you’ve ever had’?”

Nicole laughs then winces, rubbing a hand weakly at her chest. 

“Took a super nasty knock here,” she says, “not entirely convinced that I haven't broken my collarbone,” she adds. “But nothing too terrible, no.”

Waverly rolls her eyes, carding a hand affectionately through Nicole’s short and dust-caked hair, pushing it away from her face for her.

“ _Oh sure_. Nothing too terrible, just broken bones, and nasty cuts on your arm and face,” Waverly teases, pointing out a ragged gash on Nicole’s left arm.

Waverly and Wynonna’s gentle mocking continues until Doc and Rosita appear, helped down from their perch by a slightly overzealous Jeremy.

Doc steps forward while Rosita and Jeremy exchange a few stilted words of concern for each other.

“I apologise for interrupting,” Doc begins as he fiddles with his hat, “but has anyone got any idea as to the whereabouts of our good friend Bobo Del Rey?”

Everyone looks to Waverly, who realises that his absence has barely registered with her. 

She shakes her head. “ _Imhotep_ knocked me out to get me down here. When I woke up Bobo was gone.”

Doc looks grim. “Well then I believe I still have business to attend to.”

Dolls, not entirely trustful of Doc from the get-go, narrows his eyes.

“What are you going to do?”

“I reckon I have a little grudge match to settle.” He turns to Rosita. “In fact I reckon a few of us do.”

Rosita, however, silently shakes her head. She has had enough; it is visible in her tired eyes.

“What, like taking the law into your own hands?” Nicole chips in, ever the conscientious officer.

“As if the _actual_ law would know where to start with all of this,” Doc points out, gesturing broadly around them.

“Black Badge - ” Dolls begins, but Doc has stopped listening.

“Black Badge wasn’t particularly interested in helping, so far as I recall,” Doc replies coldly. “Except for you three, of course. And because of all your organisation’s delays, two good men - and a questionable one - are dead. That’s not starting on all the city folk who got caught up in Luxor.”

“Doc, come on,” Wynonna implores, clearly hoping to appeal to whatever tentative friendship the two had managed to build up. “Is it really worth it?”

“Yes, of course it is,” Doc growls, proud to a fault.

“We can’t just turn a blind eye to this,” Dolls warns, face serious.

“Well as far as I see it, you don’t look like you’re in much of a state to chase me down,” Doc says, pointedly.

Waverly is surprised when Dolls, after a moment of silent thought, concedes. Evidently, Nicole is equally shocked, if the incredulous look on her face is anything to go by.

“Fine,” Dolls says, using his best reprimanding voice. “But we’re going to wait for extraction, and we won’t be holding on for you to catch us up.”

If it is meant to be a deterrent, it fails. Doc tips the brim of his hat in acknowledgement.

“Well and truly noted,” he says, before stalking off without a second look.

“We’re not really going to leave him here, right?” Wynonna asks as soon as Doc is out of earshot.

“Let’s just hope we don’t have to find out,” Dolls replies evasively.

It is with a subdued and contemplative air that they gradually begin to make their way back above ground. Dolls, for all his attempts not to make a fuss, has injured his leg too badly to walk properly. 

After a few feeble attempts to resist any offers of help, he eventually lets Wynonna support him somewhat. Standing on his right side, she anchors an arm around his back, and he ever so gently leans an almost negligible amount of weight against her. It is almost comical, seeing the way Wynonna struggles to support Dolls’ large frame, but no one has the energy to laugh.

They are all tired, and it is a struggle to walk even themselves out individually, let alone help anyone else. But, even without discussing the matter, they all know that they came to Hamunaptra together and no one is leaving alone this time. 

(That is, of course, assuming they have made Doc see sense.) 

Eventually, Jeremy and Rosita appear at Dolls’ other side. Rosita takes his bag and Wynonna’s too, and she struggles valiantly with three military-grade holdalls without a word of complaint.

Jeremy settles himself on Dolls’ left, doing his best to support the rest of his friend’s weight. They struggle along with Wynonna, contending with narrow corridors and low ceilings as and when problems arise.

“So, hopalong, tell me,” Wynonna asks as they walk awkwardly, looking like a terrible gimmicky sports day event - the five-legged race, perhaps - “how exactly are we getting back, since we kind of destroyed our ride?” 

“Black Badge will have been tracking our movements. They might be pissed at us but we were using state of the art equipment. They’d have had the trackers up on half the working screens back at base.”

“So,” Wynonna says, elongating the ‘o’ sound. “They’re gonna be even _more_ pissed at us when - if - we get back, right?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Dolls agrees with a pained laugh that sounds more like a wheeze. “But they’ll know from the system that we went down. And they can’t risk the fallout from leaving us twice. Plus, Lucardo will be dying to rip the shit out of us for destroying all that valuable equipment, not to mention the chopper itself.”

“Do you think she’ll be waiting when we get outside?” Jeremy asks, sounding far from thrilled at the prospect.

Dolls shrugs. “Hard to say, but someone certainly will be.”

The going might be tough to get outdoors then, but the wait will not last for long. 

Waverly says nothing, but resolves to take everything as it comes. The first issue of business is simply finding their way out of Hamunaptra, hopefully for the final time. She is thankful to have one of Black Badge’s snazzy flashlights this time, no longer reliant on ancient torches to light her way.

She and Nicole bring up the rear, a few paces behind the others as they both struggle through their injuries. Nicole, though, has fared much worse than Waverly and like Dolls she initially refuses any offers of help.

“I’m good,” she says, evidently lying, but resolute in ending this shitstorm on her own terms.

A moment later, however, she reaches out a hand and winds her fingers between Waverly’s, grip tight and needy. Waverly returns the hold in kind, glad of the comfort it offers. 

“Nicole?” Waverly begins quietly, and Nicole hums an acknowledgement. “I’m sorry. You know, for going off like I did.” 

Waverly keeps her head fixed on her feet, convincing herself that it is only to mind the path and not because she is scared to have this conversation. It could wait, but if she has learned anything recently, it is that there is no time like the present. 

“You don’t have to apologise Wave,” Nicole replies firmly and without hesitation. 

Waverly lets out a breath.

_Nicole isn’t mad at me_.  

Her relief lasts about a millisecond, before a voice at the back of her head answers, _but she should be..._  

“It was a dick move though, I know it was. It put you in an impossible position, it was selfish and I -” 

“Waverly, I’m pretty sure you were making quite a self _less_ gesture back there by sacrificing yourself to that guy.” 

“You know what I mean though, right? Please Nicole, I want to apologise. I need to.”

A short silence follows and Waverly glances up in time to see Nicole release her lip where she had been chewing it in thought.

“I know what you’re trying to say,” she concedes eventually. “And apology - as unnecessary as it may be - accepted.”

They fall quiet again, walking easily in step. There are so many things Waverly wants to ask, the questions racing endless circles around her head as each one clamours for attention.

“Nicole?” she repeats, unsure of what she needs to say the most, her thoughts mutable and impossible to grasp. Again, Nicole gives a gentle hum to let Waverly know that she is listening.

“I know this isn’t the time, but I think I need to say it now. I just - this has gotten so, so messed up. We’re all hurt and probably traumatised for life; you’re hurt worse than most. I guess I’m just saying that I’ll understand if you never want a single reminder of this. I’ll understand if it all got too weird and - ” 

“No,” Nicole says quickly, cutting the conversation off before it can go anywhere else. “Wave, we met when you bailed me out of jail so that I could lead you to a famous, supposedly mythical city. It was pretty out there from the start.”

Nicole shrugs before she realises it is a bad idea and gasps in pain. “Life’s weird,” she concludes ineloquently when she recovers herself. “Plus,” she adds, a tiny affectionate smile playing at one side of her mouth, “I - like you.”

Waverly feels it again, that little candle of hope lighting up in her chest. It is still a dangerous thing, but less so now that they are safe once more. 

“You do?” she asks, brightening.

“Oh damn, you mean I haven’t made it obvious?”

Waverly huffs. “You know I was asking if you _still_ do.”

“Yeah, I still do. I like you a lot, all of the time. But I like you most when we’re not chasing - or being chased _by_ \- demonic mummies. So let’s not do that again any time soon, okay?”  

It is an offhand comment, Waverly knows that, but it makes it sounds as though Nicole has given ‘soon’ some consideration. It is as though the short term, at least, might take shape. 

“You mean…?” Waverly asks, letting the question hang in the air. Nicole squeezes her hand again. 

“I think,” Nicole replies, stretching the words out to give her some thinking space. “I think, I want us to take everything step by step from now on. Maybe pick a different bonding activity next time. Dinner or a movie, or something. Is that - is it okay?”

Waverly nods so fast she almost sprains something. It is more than okay. In fact, step by step sounds utterly, overwhelmingly perfect.

And, in the end, that is how they all emerge back into the sun. 

Slowly, and one step at a time.

 

 

 

 

 

**_Some weeks later_ ** **.  
****_Cairo, Egypt._**

  


It had not actually been months since they left the desert, but it feels as though Waverly has not left her bedroom in precisely that long.

It takes a while after extraction to really register the extent of what has happened to them. No part of the whole misadventure truly feels real - not the mummies, the magic, the almost-dying, or the not-actually-dying right at the end. 

Even the journey out of the desert feels strange to Waverly, not having come in by helicopter with the rest of the group.

When they get back to the military base on their Black Badge extraction ride, every sign that _Imhotep_ had ever been there has already been swept away. This does not help to make things any less surreal.

Dolls and Nicole are whisked off immediately for treatment, while everyone else (including Doc, who had not been successful in catching up with Bobo) are lined up in front of Lucardo’s desk like naughty school children.

She had not, after all that had happened, made the journey into the desert. 

As they file into the room, Lucardo does not bother to rise from her seat, nor does she offer them chairs of their own despite how tired they must look. Rather, she steeples her fingers together, surveying the assembled group with that stony, bird-like gaze.

“So,” she begins gravely, “where do I begin? How about with the fact that you stole a government-owned helicopter worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, not counting the additional equipment on board. Or maybe I should begin with the way you careened into the desert against the explicit orders of a superior officer,” this she directs entirely at Jeremy as the sole agent present. “Oh, what about how you wreaked untold havoc on an ancient site that is of huge governmental interest?”

_Historic interest_ , Waverly amends silently as she winces. For all her talk of good practice weeks before, it had seriously flown out of the window today.

“Oh _and_ ,” Lucardo adds, every part of her speech planned for optimum effect, “two of my agents nearly got themselves killed on a kamikaze rescue mission.” She looks directly to Waverly and stops speaking for a moment, a true master of pregnant pauses.

“All because _you_ , Ms Earp, felt the need to play the martyr,” Lucardo concludes, narrowing her eyes.

“I wasn’t playing the martyr,” Waverly snaps hotly, feeling tired and achy and, above all, short on patience. “I was trying to end what I st- ”

“The intentions really are of little consequence to me,” Lucardo continues smoothly. “The road to hell is, perhaps quite literally, paved with good intentions,” she says, in an echo of almost everyone else’s recent thoughts.

Waverly does not bother to respond, it is clear that it will only fall on deaf ears. She has no idea how Lucardo already knows snippets of what happened at Hamunaptra, but Waverly would not entirely dismiss the idea that telepathy is one of Lucardo’s special skills.

“Not that anyone asked me,” Wynonna butts in, looking even closer to a temper meltdown than Waverly feels, “but I think it’s pretty rich that you’re using ‘your’ agents as a guilt trip here.”

“Is that so?” Lucardo asks mildly, very evidently not interested in Wynonna’s opinion.

This, however, would never be something to deter Wynonna.

“I mean, less than forty-eight hours ago you didn’t actually know, or even remotely care, that one of those agents was alive.”

This observation does not help their case even slightly, but that was not Wynonna’s intention in the first place.

“I hope you’re aware that, for the trouble that has been caused I could have most of you tried in court on any number of different charges,” Lucardo barks, voice rising when Wynonna attempts to backchat further. “And as for you, Agent Chetri, I could dismiss you in dishonour right now.” 

“You ‘could’, but you...aren’t...going to, right?” Jeremy tries hopefully, firing off an uneasy and ill-timed grin and finger-gun combo that Lucardo sagely elects to ignore entirely.

Lucardo purses her lips, which further supports the bird comparison Waverly maintains in the back of her mind.

“It is my displeasing obligation to inform you that the mere mention of this outcome has had Agent Haught...well, we’ll call it _protesting strongly_ shall we?”

Doc, having remained all but silent the entire journey back now gives a small, cruel laugh.

“Of course. Because we’re not the only ones in this room with transgressions to our names, are we?” he asks, and Waverly blinks in confusion, her brain too sluggish to keep pace. “What did Haught - and Dolls for that matter - have to agree to, for you to let this slide?” Doc asks accusingly.

Lucardo does not even blink under his derision.

“The Deputy Marshall is in no position to be making demands of me,” she spits, “but Agent Haught has kindly agreed to _forget_ any and all mishaps in the Western Desert whilst under Black Badge’s command.”

“And what does she get in return?” Wynonna asks, her expression stony. 

“What does _Agent Haught_ get?” Lucardo echoes with an ominous chuckle. “She gets nothing at all. No, she made the deal in return for Agent Chetri’s continued employment should he want it, and impunity without condition for the rest of you.” Lucardo curls her lip in distaste, as though she somehow now thinks less of Nicole for making such an arrangement.

She sweeps an appraising look over all of them, lingering longest on Waverly.

“I certainly hope it proves to be worth it for her,” Lucardo says pointedly, the implication that Nicole has wasted a favour (and probably a handsome payoff) heavy in her voice.

“Now, I really have no greater desire to continue this conversation than you all. You will need to submit official statements and then four of you are free to go. I hope to see as little as possible of you from now on.”

Waverly is unsurprised when this is taken completely literally. 

She does not see Lucardo again and, once the protracted process of recording their statements is over, they receive almost no further support from Black Badge. There is no counselling process, no attempt to rehabilitate them (except of course, for the physical treatments and therapies Dolls and Nicole undergo). They are simply cast out and left to cope on their own.

Worst of all, is how Waverly, Wynonna, Doc, and Rosita are quite literally turfed off the base as soon as they no longer prove to be useful.

This happens by about three o’clock in the afternoon, before any of them have had a chance even to shower, let alone to sleep.

Black Badge have the very limited courtesy to drop them at Luxor airport with a fresh set of clothes and enough interim identification and spare change to buy one-way flights to somewhere unspecified. 

It is clear that the organisation does not care where they go, so long as they all leave immediately.

A few nondescript agents hover by the exits, evidently there to ensure they each pass through departures without turning back.

“I think we literally have to board a plane before they’ll go,” Wynonna observes with a small degree of horror, because the very best interpretation here is that this behaviour is distastefully creepy.

More than that, the idea of leaving without Nicole is not something Waverly wants to consider.

“I don’t think you get a choice,” Rosita says sadly when Waverly says something to this effect aloud. “They want us out of their hair and they clearly rule the roost around here.” 

Feeling utterly lost, Waverly looks to Wynonna.

“What do you think about this?”

Wynonna inhales, running a finger back and forth over her mouth as she does sometimes when lost in thought. 

“I think…” she begins slowly, eyes darting to the plain clothes agents still standing near the exits. “I think sometimes we have to know when we’re beaten. And I don’t know about you babygirl but I’m dead on my feet. I can’t think my way round these asshats right now. 

“So, much as this isn’t what you want to hear, I think we take our free travel pass and we circumvent these guys from the safety of our own home.”

Waverly considers this for a moment, so tired and so fed up of things never quite going her way that she could break down in the middle of Luxor Airport’s Departures hall.

This alone makes her understand that Wynonna is right. Black Badge are going to have their own way one way or another and she is no position to fight back right now.

“Where will you go?” she asks Doc and Rosita sadly.

“Cairo first, just to pick up some things from my apartment,” Rosita answers immediately. “Then I’m gonna go home.”

She does not offer further information about ‘home’, and Waverly does not push. 

“And you?” Wynonna asks Doc when he does not answer for a moment. “What will you do?” 

“For the first time in a long time, I’m free,” he tells them. “So, for a while, I think I’m going to go wherever the hell I want.”

This, Waverly must admit, _does_ sound rather nice.

 

 

 

 

 

Home should feel like a comfort, but she quickly finds that time back in Cairo drags. 

For the first few days, Waverly sleeps fitfully and leaves her bed only to shower or make a show of pretending to eat.

After all the time she spent yearning for fresh food, a nice bath, and her own bed she finds very little joy in any of these things once they are actually in her grasp.

Of course, she had not been naive enough to think that she would simply beat _Imhotep_ , get home, schedule a date with Nicole, and be back to her old self. Still, she could not have anticipated just how much she would struggle.

By God, does she struggle.

In theory the nights should be the worst, but in reality it is the long aimless, empty days that plague her.

Unsurprisingly, she is not invited to resume her employment with Mr Elmasry, and job-hunting initially seems like a mammoth task for which she initially cannot find much enthusiasm.

In fact, for a while, she loses enthusiasm for almost everything.

Normality remains a foreign concept - even the air in their apartment seems somehow changed now by everything they have witnessed. The atmosphere is wrong outside too; the world should not still be turning on its axis in the same way it always has. 

Waverly has been thrown out of orbit, and it is painfully hard to see that very little else has suffered the same fate. On the one hand, she is glad - glad to know that they did a good job of stopping _Imhotep_. But she cannot simply pretend that everything is the same.

She knows she should at least pick up a book or a newspaper if she point blank refuses to leave her room, but ultimately she cannot seem to force herself to do much of anything. 

In the daytime, she whiles away endless hours staring into space and simply trying to _forget_. Otherwise, she jumps at shadows or looks out of windows for any sign of a creature that, rationally, she knows is gone for good.

Black Badge impounded both of the books, so it is hard to see how anyone could bring _Imhotep_ back even if there is still no news on Bobo.

Knowing this does not stop the anxiety, however. It does not stop the fear of open, busy spaces. It does not help her to step foot outside for more than ten minutes before the panic overwhelms her.

She keeps imagining that she might look out into a crowd and spot the blackened, oozing face of a half-decomposed mummy staring back. As such, she starts to avoid crowds.

It would help, she thinks often, if she could just get some _sleep_. Because even though the nights are not as bad as the daytime, it does not mean that they are in any way restful.

She has regular night terrors. Sometimes they are memories of some terrifying, heart-shattering event (often, it is that first sight of Carl’s decimated face), and sometimes they are new scenes entirely. She dreams of Wynonna and Nicole dying so frequently that she loses count.

Waverly tries to open up to Wynonna about this, but it is hard to admit that she keeps involuntarily watching her sister die in new and increasingly gory ways every time she tries to sleep.

Nonetheless, having Wynonna with her now is the only thing that makes all the stress and fear even remotely bearable. In fact, if there is a silver lining to be found anywhere, it is in the time the sisters spend together in the proceeding days. They somehow manage to connect and share just like they used to when they were younger and felt like they had all the time in the world. 

They felt untouchable back then, and while the earth has shattered around them in so many different ways since - Willa, their father, _Imhotep_ \- they have always come back together.

Waverly needs her sister now more than ever and she knows that, in her own private way, Wynonna  feels the same.

 

 

 

 

 

If Waverly’s days seem empty and pointless, then for weeks she manages to fill them with her new favourite pastime: overthinking about Nicole.

Initially they do not hear from Nicole, Dolls, or Jeremy and, even if they had managed to procure new cell phones, Black Badge hardly left a forwarding number.

Wynonna worries about the lack of contact too, but it is nowhere near as obvious as Waverly’s preoccupation.

They have a vague plan to get back to Luxor eventually if they hear nothing, but that involves regaining access to their bank accounts and getting new identification made up to replace the ones lost to the river.  

In the interim, Waverly spends hours on end winding herself into knots about never seeing Nicole again. After all, it would hardly be surprising if Nicole changed her mind about wanting to be together. They have barely known each other any time at all, and it is not as though they met under conventional circumstances.

The voice from long ago returns to Waverly’s mind in earnest, the one that tells her time and again to doubt every deep connection she and Nicole had made. That same voice makes her question the authenticity of every interaction, tells her to write them off as side effects of their unorthodox ‘getting to know you’ period.

It even reminds Waverly of the fact that she and Nicole had not had time to talk, _really_ talk, at all after their singular, whispered conversation on their way back out of Hamunaptra. The extraction process did not allow them any privacy, and Nicole had been taken away the instant Black Badge could do so.

And even if Waverly trusts Nicole not to lie, even if Nicole has made assurances that she feels something for Waverly, the problem has never actually been Nicole.

What truly wracks Waverly from dawn until dusk is relentless and cruel self doubt. 

Waverly is, after all, the woman who nearly caused a goddamn apocalypse. She is the woman who nearly got Nicole and her friends killed, who sent Nicole back into the place of her nightmares. 

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Waverly is the woman whose experience of dating women is practically a negative integer. Her experience of dating anyone else more generally is hardly ample, either.

Realistically, she knows Nicole would not care about something so trivial, but the point is that the voice in Waverly’s head only prompts her to doubt herself.

Waverly had lost her job, she still had no PhD prospects, and, apparently, she could now no longer sustain a full night’s sleep or a paranoia-free day. She does not exactly feel like much of a catch.

_Why_ , the little voice snarls at her day in, day out, _would someone like Nicole Haught want_ you _as you are now_?

“At least you managed to shave your legs and shape your brows,” Wynonna offers when Waverly finally voices a modicum of her anxiety out loud one evening a little more than two weeks after they arrive home.

It had seemed inevitable that they would discuss this eventually; Waverly can hardly hide this monumental downwards spiral from the person she lives with. Besides, Wynonna is recovering too - sometimes with Waverly and sometimes on her own terms. It is kind of an unspoken system, but it works to a degree.

They just need time - they both know that. 

“Thanks for that, that’s exactly the confidence boost I needed,” Waverly snarks, not quite sure what to make of her sister’s response.

“Hey,” Wynonna says, holding her hand up, “small mercies are still mercies, that’s all I’m saying.”

Waverly shakes her head to herself, but does silently admit that it is quite nice to feel borderline presentable. It is comforting on the level that she sort of feels like herself again, that she is, at least, in control of _something_.

“Oh yeah, it’s great you know? For if Nicole ever comes by. _Which she won’t_.”

Wynonna rolls her eyes and although she does not say it in quite so many words, it is clear that she believes Waverly is worrying over nothing.

“I have eyes, Waves,” she says, trailing a finger up and down a half-full glass of wine. “Nicole is so into you it’s disgusting. You have nothing to worry about.”

They are trying to fake normality with a hearty, home-cooked meal and a glass of wine out on the tiny balcony, but it falls a little flat for both of them. Waverly stares at her empty plate, happy that she at least managed to stomach a full meal.

“But after everything that’s happened…” she says. “It’s been _so_ messed up Wynonna. Three guys are dead. She’s got, like, serious injuries...”

“Mm,” Wynonna agrees, rushing to swallow a sip of wine so that she can interrupt. “Injuries she sustained when she moved heaven and earth to save you. She rushed back into the worst place on this entire planet, probably, just to get to you.”

“She’s an ex-cop, Wynonna.”

Wynonna snorts loudly. “And what? You think she was just doing her civic duty?” 

“She will want to forget about all of this,” Waverly says sadly, “I know I would.”

“What? Want to forget the mummy _and_ Nicole?”

“Well obviously not Nicole, or the others…”

“There you go then,” Wynonna says with a gentle but satisfied smile. “You want to forget about the mummy and the death and the seething hellscape of the underworld. You want to move on from all of that and you _still_ want Nicole. Why should it be any different for her?”  

She has a fair point, although Waverly is too upset to concede to it. Nonetheless, Wynonna knows she has had an effect when Waverly fails to protest again.

“So,” Waverly says, keen for a subject change. “If Nicole ever did want to find us, I’m pretty sure _Dolls_ would get notified of our address too. You two seemed to get along very well…”

“We were uniting against the forces of evil, Waverly,” Wynonna says grandly, evidently well enough now to at least revert to her old, humour-based deflection tactics. “We didn’t have a choice.” 

“No,” Waverly says brightly, “it was more than that. I can tell.” 

Wynonna just rolls her eyes and says no more, a sure sign that Waverly is onto something.

As the sun dips down over the horizon, the wine has relaxed them enough to feel something akin to serene for the first time in a long while. Still, neither of them yet enjoys solitude again and they stay up late talking about absolutely nothing, eventually retiring inside when the night grows cold.

They fall asleep on their couch, still fully dressed and sat completely upright; now both entirely capable of sleeping anywhere, anyhow.

 

 

 

 

 

As the days tick by, Waverly gradually manages to pick herself up and dust herself off more and more. 

She picks up a few books from her to-read pile, and slowly starts trying to convince herself again that archaeology could still be her future.

She cannot exactly say she left her trip to Hamunaptra with nothing gained at all, but when she set off she had hoped to forward her career, not come home with some new friends and an all-consuming crush.

Hamunaptra has done nothing for her as a scholar, if anything it has only now brought negative associations with the discipline she loves.

It is, nonetheless, this very realisation that finally galvanises her first big step forward. After all, she cannot reasonably allow selfish, embittered, and entitled men like _Imhotep_ and Bobo to destroy her passion and strip her of everything she has worked for. Earps do not give in without a fight.

So, the morning after her balcony meal with Wynonna, she opens a recently-published book on Ancient Egyptian mythology.

The text is more a new and updated anthology, so while the research is pretty old the format is new and it feels like a good way to ease herself back in gently.

From this she moves to fresh research on _Akhenaten_ \- a character she finds particularly interesting - and by the time their WiFi is back up and running again almost a week later, she is ready to tackle the surprisingly large number of online journal articles she has missed.

While Waverly is busy sifting through and downloading them, Wynonna pokes her head around the bedroom door. 

“Please don’t feel the need to knock,” Waverly mutters absently, scrolling on her laptop. 

“Thanks, I won’t. Anyway, it’s a lovely morning so I’m heading out - want to come?”

“Not right now thanks, I’m in the middle of something,” Waverly replies, still not looking up from the screen.

 “ _Waverly_ ,” Wynonna begins, tone stern in a way that suggests she is about two steps from staging a serious intervention.

“I promise it’s not like that this time,” Waverly insists. “I just...I’m catching up on some journals, okay?” 

Wynonna visibly brightens, although her expression is still marred with some suspicion. Sighing, Waverly swivels her laptop to show Wynonna the screen and, by extension, the PDF of a study of new bone and pottery fragments found just outside of Edfu.

“Fine, but you do actually need to leave this apartment soon. This isn’t like you,” Wynonna replies before stalking off. Waverly hears her dawdle about as she slips on shoes and collects a bag. Eventually, the door slams and Wynonna’s key scrapes in the lock; neither of them feels entirely safe now when they are home alone. 

In the still that follows Waverly starts to read and, for the first time since Hamunaptra, the hours slip by unnoticed.

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly moves only once from her bed in Wynonna’s absence, and this is only to fill up her water bottle.

Eventually, the door slams with Wynonna’s re-entry to the flat and Waverly jumps, although her panic dies down much more quickly than normal. 

She checks the time and is shocked to find that it is already mid-afternoon. She had been far too enthralled in her note-taking to notice much else.

The peace of the apartment is well and truly shattered when Wynonna shouts out her name from down the hall.

“Are you awake?!”

“Wynonna, it’s nearly three thirty in the afternoon.”

“ _Whatever_. Just come here will you? Guess what I found in the market today!”

Waverly shuffles around on her bed; comfortable and with no immediate desire to move she shouts back - 

“Since when did you give me orders?”

“Since I want you to come see this!”

“What is it?”

At this point, the interaction becomes more a battle of wills than anything else: who will concede defeat and move first?

It is clear that Wynonna has sensed the challenge too. 

“Are you _ever_ going to leave that room?”

“Nope! You have to come here and show me if it’s that exciting,” Waverly shouts back faux-brightly, trying to annoy Wynonna into giving in. She knows that if Wynonna truly has found some interesting curio or exciting edible treat at the market, then she will cave first.

Waverly finds herself fervently hoping Wynonna has found something exciting for dinner. The consequences of Wynonna’s last _exciting discovery_ were still smarting at their skin. 

She hears Wynonna snort, such is the thinness of the apartment walls.

“Suit yourself kiddo, but you’re missing out.”

This acquiescence gives Waverly pause for a moment, but an approaching set of footsteps in the hallway proves Waverly’s suspicion that Wynonna would not be able to resist bragging about her find.

Eventually, the steps come to a halt and a tiny knock sounds on the half-open bedroom door. 

“Wow, did you finally learn some manners?” Waverly calls out. “Like how you’re supposed to knock on people’s doors _all_ the time, instead of barging in where you’re not wanted?”

Waverly has no doubt that Wynonna will take the sarcasm as intended. Besides, they are both unlikely to forget the awkward encounters they have shared over the years as a result of Wynonna’s propensity to enter rooms without warning.

“Wow. That’s pretty rude considering I brought you flowers,” comes the response, but the voice is not Wynonna’s after all.

It is a voice Waverly has heard no less frequently since arriving back in Cairo, but never has it been in person. 

She feels her head snap up, looking towards the doorway and her mind swims and stutters when she sees Nicole standing there without any other prior warning.

If it weren’t such an unexpected sight, it would almost feel natural to have her standing there in Waverly’s home, as though Nicole had always belonged there.

_Home_ and _Nicole_ have become completely synonymous.

Without much conscious thought, Waverly shoots up from the bed and comes to stand an awkward few paces away from Nicole, herself lingering at the threshold. Even now, after everything, she awaits Waverly’s invitation. 

But Waverly cannot think clearly, torn between running to the door and flinging her arms around Nicole or allowing them both some space.

Eventually, she opts for the latter although her body craves the former like it is water and they are still out in the desert.

“Nicole. Hey…” Waverly says, wanting to kick herself before the words are out of her mouth. Nicole’s expression tightens ever so slightly at the lacklustre greeting, but she hides the expression immediately.  

Suddenly, Waverly feels painfully nervous and unconsciously starts fidgeting her hands.

Slowly, Nicole steps inside and sweetly holds both arms out, an offering for Waverly in each hand.

Evidently, she had not been joking about the flowers - she must have picked some from the market. She also appears to have brought an almost unholy amount of fresh dates; of course she had remembered that they are Waverly’s favourite. 

“Hi Waves. Can I - can I come in?”

“Oh! Yes. Of course.”

Feeling silly, Waverly steps aside to let Nicole pass, accepting the gifts with a word of thanks. She sets them both gently on her bedside table before shutting the door, leaving Nicole to cast a brief but appraising look around the room. It makes Waverly feel unspeakably glad that she had started tidying up after herself again. Housework had hardly been her immediate priority recently.

Eventually, Nicole smiles and brings her gaze back to Waverly.

“This room is exactly what I pictured,” she admits, waiting politely for an invitation to sit down.

Unsure how to reply and a little floored that Nicole had been picturing anything at all, Waverly settles with a vague remark that the room is small but gets a lot of light.

“I’m sure,” Nicole murmurs gently, evidently not here to discuss the room’s position relevant to the sun, but happy to humour nonetheless.

In lieu of any free furniture except a suspiciously rickety desk chair, Waverly elects to sit herself down on the long edge of her bed. She indicates that Nicole should do the same.

Nicole sits close by but leaves a respectable few inches between them.

“I’m sorry I just turned up like this. I wish I could have called beforehand. Or, well you know, just called you at all these past weeks.”

“Even if you could have, we still haven’t bought new cell phones,” Waverly explains sadly. “It turns out that getting replacement IDs is awful and you need them for everything these days. We only just got our WiFi back too; apparently you have to pay your bills on time.”

The joke is weak but Nicole still graces her with a little laugh, albeit one that dies away quickly. She looks at Waverly with the intense expression that has always brought out goosebumps on Waverly’s skin.

It leaves Waverly flustered, casting about desperately for something to say.

“How come you’re here?” she asks before considering how that might sound. “No, I mean - _shit_. I’m so happy you are - ”

This time, Nicole’s chuckle feels less forced.

“It’s okay, I get you. I assumed you both would have wanted to come home, so I just got on the first flight to Cairo once I finally got discharged. I remembered where you lived - you know, from the note? - although I hadn’t _actually_ thought through what I was going to do when I turned up at your door unannounced. Luckily we bumped into Wynonna on the way.” Nicole pauses before adding, as an afterthought, “oh, yeah - Dolls and Jeremy wanted to come along too.”

Waverly smiles, internally frustrated by her own inability to convey how wonderful it feels to have Nicole here. She has fantasised about this moment for weeks, but now that it is a reality the self-doubt starts to bubble back to the surface. It is hard to say if Nicole is here for continuation or closure and Waverly is almost too scared to ask. 

As has always been the case, however, Nicole has her back.

“I really missed you,” she says plainly, before biting at her bottom lip. A tiny blush spreads across her cheeks, although it fades almost as quickly as it appeared. “God, that sounds so stupid doesn’t it? I’m sorry, I know it’s only been a couple of weeks in reality.” 

For a brief moment, Waverly gets stuck on those two words: _in reality_.

She wants to ask if Nicole’s days have dragged too; if they have felt as long and lonesome to her as they did to Waverly. She wants to say that it has been a strange adjustment to go from almost twenty-four hour contact to nothing at all. She wants to tell Nicole that she knows that constant exposure is not healthy, but that she just wants to be normal, if that ever really meant anything to begin with.

What she actually says is, “no, Nicole I missed you too.”

It will do, for now.

Waverly grabs at Nicole’s hand where it rests on her thigh just as Nicole practically lights up.  

“You did?”

As Nicole shines, that familiar rush of affection spreads out under Waverly’s skin. It feels like a beacon of hope in what has largely been a recent and relentless storm of negativity and fear.

“Of course I did. How could I not?" 

At this, Nicole’s delighted smile only grows and, not for the first time, Waverly wonders how Nicole could ever worry that Waverly might change her mind. She understand the hypocrisy in her thought process, of course, but she wonders all the same.

Waverly allows herself to grin back for a moment, feeling silly and goofy and absolutely weightless.

With only bliss between them, Waverly finally succumbs to the seemingly ever-present urge to reach up, to kiss Nicole; to pull her close and never let go.

Even when sitting, she has to crane up a little, and she uses her hands to gently cup Nicole’s cheeks.

As soon as Nicole understands, she drifts closer and meets Waverly’s lips in a kiss that is soft and slow and everything they both need.

It is, Waverly realises with a jolt, the first time that they have not been running; it is the first kiss where they truly have time to ease up and just _be_.

Lord, it shows.

It is almost boundless, the feeling of sheer joy at the way Nicole’s lips whisper so softly, so beautifully, against Waverly’s.

Something settles over them as they take the time for themselves, for each other. That something, ineffable but soft and still as a sigh, blocks out the rest of the world as they bend together and breath each other in.

Nicole kisses exactly as Waverly remembers from that night in Luxor - perhaps the only real confirmation that it had not been some wonderful but irretrievable dream. Nicole kisses like she is offering her soul to Waverly, pouring it beneath Waverly’s skin.

And Waverly knows the thought of shared souls should feel wrong after everything, but she finds herself kissing back hungrily, trying to tell Nicole that she wants everything; body and spirit combined.

In fact, she wants it all so much that the position, angled awkwardly towards each other on Waverly’s bed, is not enough. She is desperate on an almost base level to bring her body closer to Nicole’s, to do more, to _feel more_...

In the meantime, however, she settles on anchoring a restless, skittish hand on Nicole’s thigh. She tries to keep her fingers from biting down too hard, but she is half-convinced she might just keep on falling if she does not have something to hold on to.

Either sensing or sharing Waverly’s thought process, Nicole breaks the kiss for the briefest of moments to shift around on the bed to better face Waverly. It feels an effort to let their lips falter, even if Nicole scarcely draws back for a second, but it is all worth it when Nicole’s hand settles firmly at the small of Waverly’s back. Strong fingers splay out beautifully as she holds Waverly close, keeping her steady. 

It is almost overwhelming now, the depth of their shared joy in this moment and it feels almost to Waverly as if they have earned it, as if they deserve every second of this feeling. Even so, Waverly is conscious of wanting to do this all _well_ and it is with a strange sense of nervousness that she lets her other hand drift to Nicole’s side.  

It almost feels like being a clueless teenager again, and so she lets her hand rest for a moment, nestled perfectly at the slope where hip meets waist. Eventually, though, the stillness simply does not suffice and Waverly feels her fingers move almost of their own accord. As always, they are the wrong side of cold, a stark contrast to the wonderfully warm slice of skin between Nicole’s jeans and soft green t-shirt. Nicole squirms a little when Waverly’s fingertips make contact, only to hum an affirmation against Waverly’s lips that _yes, this is okay_ before Waverly can even begin to wonder how to ask the question without the loss of Nicole’s firm, steady kisses. 

If pressed for an answer, Waverly could not say how long they sit there learning and exploring and tasting, but the way it feels - too much somehow, but _christ_ not enough either - has Waverly’s mind spinning endless circles.  

It falls to Nicole, in the end, to slow them down eventually, a tiny, regretful gasp on her lips as she pulls away to dot kisses on Waverly’s cheek and jaw as she had in Luxor all those weeks ago.

“Waves,” she murmurs, the timbre of a moan in her throat that is so unintentional, so sensual, that the sound hits Waverly directly in the stomach. “We should…”

“Yeah, we should,” Waverly agrees even as she leans straight back into a kiss, directly and knowingly contradicting herself. Nicole allows herself to kiss back, but somehow has the willpower to keep it short.

“I want to do this properly,” she whispers against Waverly’s lips when they break apart briefly. She traces her fingers softly against Waverly’s neck, resting them eventually against her jaw. “I - God I hope this doesn’t sound ridiculous or overbearing but - I just don’t want you to rush anything.”

Waverly furrows her brow, momentarily thrown by Nicole’s choice of words; ‘you’ and not ‘us’. 

“Me?” she asks.

Nicole flushes deeper, and Waverly recognises it as embarrassment this time - not a beautiful byproduct of the heated moment.  

“I think it was always obvious that I’ve pretty much been a goner from the moment we met,” she admits, colouring further, “so obvious, in fact, that there would be no point in me denying it even if I wanted to.” 

She smiles, her expression self-deprecating and faintly amused before speaking again.

“And since I’m apparently just putting awkwardness aside right now, I guess I’ve been thinking a lot - like, I’ve had a _ton_ of time to think - about fast we were thrown together, you know?”

Nicole looks doubtful, so Waverly shakes her head quickly.

“Me too. I’ve done too much thinking these past weeks.”

Nicole’s smile grows into one of deep, unfettered relief and Waverly feels as though the last tiny bit of tension has left her body, like an overstuffed balloon with the extra air let out.

“I just don’t want all of that to be the reason that we - I mean, I don’t want you to feel…” Nicole fumbles for an explanation and Waverly cannot stop herself from jumping in again.

“I don’t. No - I mean it isn’t.”

“I don’t doubt you, not like that,” Nicole adds quickly with a strange note to her voice. “Trust me, I know you’re capable of knowing your mind. It’s just - it’s important to me that this feels as right to you as it does to me, in _every_ way. I’m getting this all wrong, I’m sorry. It just matters to me that we take the time, now that we have it.”

Nicole is holding back, but Waverly can read between the lines and understanding hits her hard, along with a fair dose of strong, overwhelming emotion.

She is unused to this, to a partner considering Waverly’s own emotional needs above all. Things with her ex had been so different and she almost does not know what to do with Nicole’s admission.

After years with Champ, who was as much _trying_ as an ineffectual trier, Nicole is sitting there, open and communicative and ready to make Waverly - and a relationship - her priority.

It feels good as much as it feels incredibly daunting.

And for all Waverly has felt insecure, for all she has thought that surely she is the only one who must be worrying and overthinking so much, Nicole is evidently much more nervous than Waverly had imagined.

Indeed, Nicole misreads Waverly’s stunned silence entirely.

“I’m sorry if this sounds overbearing. I’m sorry if I’ve just mes- ”

“Nicole if you say the words ‘messed up’ then so help me.”

Nicole laughs, ducks her head sheepishly and takes a breath, waiting for Waverly to speak again 

“I know what you’re saying,” Waverly begins, chewing each word over carefully. “And I really, really appreciate it. I’m just not sure I’m used to people, you know, putting this much thought in.”

She does not state her meaning outright, nor does she mention that Wynonna is excluded from her sweeping statement. Already, she trusts Nicole to understand.

She tries for a nervous laugh, only half-ready to tackle her next big concern.

“And, for the record, even if you are supercop - no, don’t give me that look, I’ve seen you in action now,” she adds mock-sternly as Nicole snorts and rolls her eyes. “Seriously though, I know you don’t need detective skills to work out that I haven’t, well,” she gestures between them, confidence failing her entirely as she settles on concluding only, “women.”

It is almost tempting to wince. Not her most articulate moment.

Nicole, however, is hurrying forward with her own protestations.

“It’s not about that. Well,” she says, that last little word suggesting an amendment is coming and sending Waverly’s nerves into overdrive for a moment. “Maybe I’m not being entirely honest, maybe it partly _is_ that - but not in the way I think you’re imagining. Like I said, I just want you to be sure and comfortable about everything without rushing.”

In the pause that follows, Waverly opens and closes her mouth twice as she struggles to find the words Nicole deserves to hear. 

“We’re not rushing,” she begins before acquiescing slightly when Nicole looks disbelieving. “Yes, we’ve done this _fast_. But it doesn’t feel like a rush. I feel more at ease with us, with what we are even now, than I did with the guy I dated since high school. He rushed me in many ways - you haven’t done that once.” Waverly pauses, now overwhelmed by all the words that had not, a moment ago, been forthcoming. Now there are too many to choose from, but her sentiment is simple and easy.  

“Nicole, I - I want you okay? I want this. I am beyond certain.” 

This, Waverly realises, if the first time she has allowed herself to fully acknowledge the depth of her wanting. She had always been too scared to hope because things don’t simply just _work out_ when you are an Earp. She cannot remember the last time she had her own way like this, not on some grand and important level. But now Nicole is here, Nicole found her again; Nicole, who has never once tried to hide what Waverly means to her. Nicole, who loses her capacity for more words and simply kisses Waverly again, quick and chaste and so very full of gentle, loving warmth.  

And when Nicole pulls back something feels different, somehow. Something is more airy and light, like some last sliver of doubt has left them both for good. Even so, Nicole will not be entirely deterred and, _after all_ , Waverly wonders to herself, _would this woman be Nicole Haught if she once gave up easy?_  

“Waverly, are you - ” 

“I’m sure, you big idiot.”

Nicole smiles widely, never keeping even one ounce of happiness for herself. She has always been happiness shared and never squirrelled away.

“Come on Waves, don’t make me beg,” Nicole says playfully. “Let me at least buy you dinner tonight. I mean damn, I’m trying to be romantic here.”

Waverly laughs, even as she understands that this means something to Nicole. It means more than just ‘first date’, more than chivalry or tradition. It is Nicole’s way of trying to inject something close to normality into their lives because they both need to move on.

Waverly has to admit that a solid, standard date night is a great way to do just that. 

She smiles.

“Dinner sounds amazing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo...what did you guys think? enough pining? enough fluff?? weeeell there'll be more fluff next time for the final time on this fic, so if i left anything out then i think i'll be able to cover you guys next time too. 
> 
> i think the only two notes i really need to add are that a) if the separation/subsequent reunion between nicole and wave seems a bit arbitrary and contrived...that's probably because it is. this whole fic is one big dumb adventure and romance fest and i wasn't about to flake out on that now! and b) i've decided to give bobo a headstart on his escape route...i currently have no plans to write more of this universe but it's always nice to leave a few threads dangling loose. yknow. just in case...
> 
> anyway! i think that's it for now. 
> 
> for those of you who have been enjoying a bank holiday break i hope it's been relaxing and a time for recharging batteries. until next time, have a lovely week and take care


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which our faves, well, prepare for the rest of their lives...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well friends the day has arrived!!! this fic is at its end! this is easily the longest fanfic i've written and published and although i went through a pretty love/hate relationship with it in the early stages i'm pretty proud that i made it all the way through. 
> 
> i have to say, that editing this final epilogue type deal got me a bit emotional, which seems strange given that i knew how it was going to pan out this entire time so the ending was hardly a shock to me. 
> 
> i really do have to say again that it's kind of blown my mind that this fic has had so many comments and kudos and your support, compliments, and interactions w me about this piece have really just warmed my heart so much. i said it at the start, i have repeated it numerous times, and i shall repeat it again: i truly did not think anyone would want to read this fic. the whole premise was for me to write something dumb and silly based on a fave show and a fave movie and i really just thought i would publish every week and no one would click the link. the fact that you guys have read and engaged with this fic has been so unexpected and so wonderful. 
> 
> so with that being said, i don't to delay the conclusion any longer - but please be warned that this chapter is 8000% gratuitous, disgusting fluff with a side order of a few teensy tiny references to, ah, some intimate moments. 
> 
> i hope this is all you guys would want out of the end of this fic - i'll see you in the notes below!

**_Some months later  
**_Cairo, Egypt_**_ **

 

 

When Waverly’s mother left her - and the rest of the family - before she even had her fifth birthday party, she was offered a few sessions with the school counsellor to assess her wellbeing.

Of course, at the time, Waverly mostly felt a deep fear that things had become so very different, and not at all for the better.

People kept asking her how she felt, as though there could ever be an adequate answer to that question, especially for a four year old.

The only thing Waverly really remembers from her counselling sessions is the single time when the usual school counsellor was sick and they brought in a replacement for the week. This woman was much younger, much more chipper; overall much better at connecting with young children.

Waverly warmed to her instantly, felt drawn to her kind eyes and her lovely soft ginger hair (and yes, she sees it now, two decades later). The new lady asked Waverly what she liked to do and, after some probing at the third answer (“reading!”), suggested that Waverly take time to keep a diary. The only time they mention her mother all session is when the counsellor tells Waverly “if you ever miss her, write it down. If you ever think of her, or of anything you feel strongly about - just write it down.”

It was the best session Waverly went to, even if she still did not really understand it all.

Nearly twenty years later, Waverly Earp finally takes that counsellor’s advice and starts a diary on the morning after her very first date with Nicole Haught.

Whenever she feels anything strongly enough, she writes about it and she quickly finds herself with an old notebook that has become a strange patchwork of her life’s all time lows and all time highs.

All the nightmares, all the fears, every last terrible memory of _Imhotep_ and Hamunaptra goes into the book. Every time she dreams or cries or feels that sick swirl of unbidden fear in her stomach, it goes in the notebook.

Waverly reads through it often, initially reliving events on her own but, in time, she increasingly finds that she shares those pages with others. She will show them to Nicole first and then, much later, to Wynonna as well.

Nonetheless, it should be taxing to read it over and over again, and likely it would be if it were not for the fact that every other page is crammed with memories of a much better variety.

There is little place to start except her first ever date with Nicole.

Naturally, romance between them is always going to be difficult to achieve in public here, and Nicole especially is hyper-aware of the bad things that can happen if certain people know the wrong things about you.

But they do go out the night Nicole arrives in Cairo, and they go out many nights afterwards too. Sometimes they go alone, and sometimes they bring their new extended family along for the fun of it.

Neither Nicole nor Waverly is really a _fancy restaurant_ person, so Nicole had asked that Waverly pick her favourite place to eat. After some thought, she had settled on a small, out of the way restaurant - family run and with the best _Om Ali_ in all of Cairo - in one of the more liberal areas of the city. Still, they make sure they restrict themselves to holding hands under the table - just to be safe.

They pass the evening leisurely, they split the restaurant’s famed dessert, and they make each other laugh almost nonstop. They even throw some pretty significant looks across the table too - but only when they are feeling particularly bold.

When they finally leave, Nicole pays the bill because she wants to, but also because Waverly still doesn’t have a new bank card. It means that Waverly insists that she pays next time - loading the promise with every implication possible.

The whole evening just feels right on a level Waverly cannot quite explain; she had never felt more free to be unapologetically herself.

Traditional to the bitter end, Nicole had walked Waverly home and even chanced a goodbye kiss under the cover of darkness.

Waverly knows that this is the happiest she has felt in a long time, much before Hamunaptra. She even has the good grace to pretend to be unaware that Dolls is still in the apartment (his shoes are still by the front door, although Jeremy’s, naturally, are not), allowing him and Wynonna time to creep about in the morning.

The next day, under that very first entry in her journal in which she details her night with Nicole, Waverly concludes -

_...not just the best first date of my life but, I hope, the last one too._

 

 

 

 

 

The week stretches out after their date, and it cannot really be denied that either sister has been...entertaining a visitor. Plus Jeremy, of course, but that is an entirely different story.

The situation is studiously ignored for a day or two, until Waverly accidentally uses ‘not long after Dolls left this morning’, as a point of reference.

Wynonna immediately freezes as she goes to pour herself a glass of water, standing at the kitchen counter with her back to Waverly.

“Before you get any ideas - ”

“I’m not.”

Waverly bites her lip against a smile, glad that Wynonna isn’t looking at her.

“Good, because before that big ol’ brain of yours starts getting ahead of itself - it’s just a bit of fun, okay? Lord knows we all need it.”

Finally, Wynonna turns around and joins Waverly at the little kitchen table.

“I believe you,” Waverly says mock innocently, raising an eyebrow.

“ _Waverly_.”

“What? I said I believe you,” she insists, still grinning serenely to let Wynonna know that she can see right through her. “And will you two be...having more fun again? You know, after the four nights of fun you’ve already had?”

Wynonna shrugs, trying (and failing) to play it casual. “Prolly. You know, I hope you don’t think you’re going to get out of telling me about your _dates_ with Nicole like this,” Wynonna says and Waverly decides to cut her some slack and go back to her own inquisition later.

Wynonna is being expressly chilled out about this all, both on the level that she has given up pretending to be pissed at Nicole and on the level that Waverly had never mentioned liking girls before her all too obvious crush.

Granted, she and Wynonna still haven’t really talked about it - but to be fair, Waverly is still trying to work out talking about it with Nicole first. There is no reason why Wynonna would bat an eyelid, and Waverly had never really worried, but it has kind of come out of the blue for all of them.  

Waverly gasps, pretending to be hurt. “I would never…”

“Good,” Wynonna says, taking a sip of water. “So spill.”

 

 

 

 

 

One of the most important factors in Waverly’s post-Near Death Experience diary is an ever-growing list that she has entitled:  _Things I have learned because of Hamunaptra_ _._

The list starts off modestly, but eventually it grows and grows -

 

1.   _I am really, really bad at talking about my own problems_  
2.    _I care too much about others’ approval_  
3.    _Sometimes you find your family once you are grown up_  
4\. _Healing is possible  
_ 5\. _The nightmares **do** get better_  
6.    _I am bisexual and I always have been_  
7.    _You never truly clear sand out of your possessions…_  
8.   _...or your hair._  
9.   __'_ Going slow’ is really hard when Nicole Haught is your girlfriend*  
_ 10.   *****Nicole Haught is my girlfriend.****

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waverly and Nicole’s attempt to take it slow produces very, very mixed results.

With Waverly still job-hunting and Nicole on a phased return to work, they have a lot of time to fill and, of course, they spend much of it together.

Nicole made her way to Cairo looking for Waverly, and always had the intention to stick around if Waverly wanted her to, but Dolls and Jeremy had arrived with more flexible plans.

Although Black Badge had claimed the military base in Luxor as their main Egyptian headquarters, the embassy in Cairo houses some agents too. Lucardo is more than eager to reassign Dolls, Jeremy, and Nicole to a new location, surprising absolutely no one. What does surprise Waverly, however, is that Dolls and Jeremy are just as eager to leave as Nicole.

Dolls and Lucardo have a long-standing feud which has only been exacerbated by what Jeremy begins to term The _Imhotep_ Incident.

(It catches on pretty quickly).

Dolls turns out to be extremely happy to let things cool down for a while, and time in Cairo also gives him a shot at a new post where he will not, as he puts it, be micromanaged every five minutes.

Of course, his and Wynonna’s totally chilled out, no strings attached _hanging out together_ thing probably helps too.

Jeremy also has no real allegiance to Lucardo, and is pretty upfront about his need to put some distance - both emotionally and geographically - between himself and all the recent trauma. Waverly also has a strong suspicion that working for Black Badge is something he endures more than enjoys these days, especially after all the backstabbing and secrecy.

He hasn’t exactly said as much, but Waverly and Nicole privately think that Jeremy made the decision to move as soon as he knew Nicole and Dolls were leaving. After all, things are usually remarkably less shitty if you are with your friends.

And often enough, that is precisely where Jeremy finds himself.

The five of them usually spend a night or two per week at the bar where Wynonna and Nicole had their first and somewhat unconventional encounter. Upon realising that, technically, this how the whole story began Wynonna quickly takes credit for everything positive to come out of the desert. Mostly this in regards to new friendships - to new _family_ \- but Wynonna especially likes to take credit for Waverly and Nicole’s relationship, as it is quickly viewed by almost everyone.

It slips into parlance very comfortably, being each other’s girlfriend.

The other good news to quickly arise is that Jeremy must have put some of Black Badge’s intel to good use at one point or another, because he surprises them all by tracking down and inviting Rosita to one of their nights out.

He mentions that he looked for Doc too but it looks like he is already back to a life of wandering; just as he had wanted.

(In time they will find they receive the odd piece of contact from him, even a visit or two - theirs are bonds that are hard to break).

As for Rosita, she looks almost nervous the first time she joins them, as though she cannot truly fathom out why they would want her there. For all her brash and bravado throughout their time in the desert, peacetime Rosita is actually much quieter and more reserved.

Still, Waverly has seen her shooting - she would bet on Rosita in a fight.

Rosita tells them she is still intending to move on, but much like Wynonna and Waverly she has been forced to build up some money before her options can really open up. Eventually she makes the best of her situation by taking up a free job _behind_ the bar, and no one can really complain because it sort of guarantees that they see her frequently.

In her guise as bartender, she regains some of that old snark and she sometimes even slips them a free drink or two for good measure. Otherwise, she simply leans across the bar and sends them some good-natured abuse, all completely in jest. She deliberately embarrasses Waverly by pretending to vet Nicole when she catches them risking a few stolen kisses outside the public bathrooms, and she holds Wynonna to ransom by threatening to do the same to Dolls.

(The ransom, of course, being that Wynonna keeps any wild nights of drinking, gambling, _borrowing_ to a minimum.

“We don’t want any more artefacts leading you into mortal peril,” Rosita points out sagely.)

Nonetheless, for all the time that they spend with their friends, Waverly and Nicole find themselves alone just as often.

They go on more pseudo-dates, because playing at normal is actually really fun.

They do afternoon coffee, strolls around various markets, and even a day out to Giza for the standard Pyramids-and-Sphinx tourist trap (Nicole has never actually been and, disillusioned as Waverly feels with the tourist industry sometimes, she simply cannot let that stand).

Every successful trip outside builds their confidence in crowded, open spaces, while every fresh adventure helps them move on a little more by forging new and better memories together.

Alone, they learn how to speak about _Imhotep_ . They revisit events together and they talk about the ongoing fears and nightmares as frankly as they can bear. Waverly cries her way through recounting yet _another_ nightmare in which Nicole and Wynonna do not survive the helicopter crash, and Nicole surprises her by admitting that her own dreams have changed recently too.

Gone are the wild visions of the empty, rolling desert in which Nicole always realises much too late that she has followed the wrong path, and in their place come feverish, tortured dreams of what Nicole calls “arriving too late”.

She stops short of actually saying that she dreams of arriving back at Hamunaptra to find Waverly dead or possessed, but it is clear that this is what Nicole sees when she sleeps.

These times are tough and trying for them, but they work through it together with open, winding conversations and soft, gentle embraces under the covers.

Because, more often than not, things between them really are just a lot of fun.

They keep learning as they go, the subject matter just anything and everything; childhood memories, favourite movies, most detested foods, secret fears or ambitions.

And when they don’t talk, they _touch_. In fact, they struggle to keep their hands off each other - it might be a cliché, but it is one that they are both more than happy to embody.

“Some say that it’s called a honeymoon,” Waverly says one day, “because older cultures and societies once used the moon cycles to track time. A newlywed couple might drink mead - you know, the honey part - for the first moon of marriage. Some people say it’s a fifth century tradition, others argue it could date right back to Ancient Babylon and even maybe Ancient Egypt. I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s been widely disproved now but it’s still an interesting idea, right?”  

“Mmhm, very much so,” Nicole agrees absently from where she is nipping at Waverly’s throat as she glides one hand upwards along the inside of Waverly’s thigh. Her fingers skitter right to the hem of Waverly’s shorts, stop, and drift aimlessly again.

“You don’t really know what point I’m making, do you?”

“Not really,” Nicole affirms, unconcerned.

Waverly pauses for a moment, distracted when Nicole’s mouth bears down with slightly more pressure.

“I’m not even sure I do now,” Waverly admits breathlessly, and Nicole chuckles against Waverly’s neck. “Something about honeymoon periods and Ancient Egypt and us.”

Nicole laughs again, louder this time, clearly not expecting Waverly to say that.

“I love your brain,” she says, amused at Waverly’s roving thought processes. “Although I _am_ wondering if I should be slightly insulted that you’re thinking that right at this moment,” she adds, as her free hand strokes along Waverly’s side, slipping underneath her tank top.

Waverly smiles, raking her own fingers lightly along Nicole’s back and up her bare neck, making her shiver in spite of the heat of the day.

With a gentle whisper she urges Nicole to come to her, and when Nicole obliges Waverly kisses her soundly in an assurance that she is perfectly present in the moment.

“Just my brain?” Waverly asks pointedly when they break apart.

Nicole smiles fondly. “No baby, not _just_ your brain.”

 

 

 

 

 

Slow and steady does not work out either, when Nicole starts staying over relatively early on. It is not like sleeping next to each other is anything new, but it is nice to have the space Waverly’s bed affords them. It starts when Nicole falls asleep during a movie night after her first day back at work. She wakes up during the end credits full of apologies which Waverly quickly kisses away.

“I’ll go,” Nicole murmurs against Waverly’s lips.

“You can barely keep your eyes open, just stay.”

“Are you sure that’s alright?” Nicole asks, drawing back to get a good look at Waverly’s face. “Not like that...of course,” she hurries to clarify.

By way of an answer, Waverly only says -

“I’ll get you a spare shirt.”

Wynonna has a field day the next morning after Nicole leaves for a shift, and it takes a lot of insistence that yes, it was just sleeping, not that Wynonna cares about the sex - she just wants enough leverage to stop Waverly’s occasional questioning about Dolls.

Wynonna’s jibes aside, Nicole stays most nights after that. The flat is infinitely nicer than her dorm, and it hardly makes much sense to enforce a boundary neither of them cares about, especially when there is no reason for it.

Around the same time, Nicole stops trying to slow things down physically - a sure sign that she is starting to believe that Waverly does not feel rushed or pressured. Granted, Waverly’s enthusiasm is hard to deny but Nicole still seeks verbal permission with every new boundary they cross, or else she waits for Waverly to cross it first.

And the thing is, Waverly would be lying if she said that her lack of experience with woman didn’t make her nervous, make her hold at least something back for a little while. But the truth is, she knows her mind and she is happy to show Nicole what she likes.

She is happy to learn in return, too.

Because physical intimacy with Nicole - much like its emotional counterpart - is communicative and deeply gratifying. It is a gentle, flowing dance of give and take, and - yes - it is a lot of fun. It is even, often, actively _funny_ and they learn and make mistakes (mostly Waverly) and grow. They spend as much time stifling laughter from drifting through the flat’s thin walls as they do hushing any sorts of moans.

As with most other things, Nicole is intuitive in the physical sense too; she reads Waverly’s desires easily and bends to them without hesitation.

At first, Waverly worries that there is a natural and understandable trend towards Nicole giving so much more than she receives. But then Waverly learns that this is simply Nicole’s default, that she _gets_ a lot from it too, and it is kind of a game changer.

Still, if this is their dance Nicole cedes to Waverly, waits for her to lead, and after a while Lord does she lead.

It is Waverly who pulls Nicole’s borrowed pyjama top over her head one night as they make out beneath a single sheet. Mind completely clouded with pleasure, Waverly does not entirely consider the implications until her hands drifts from Nicole’s stomach upwards.

It is like being a teenager again - so much stunned awe at all this new, unexplored flesh. Waverly bends her head to kiss, to tongue at Nicole’s skin, to _taste_ and when she gets close to Nicole’s heart, she lets her head rest there for a moment. She holds still, listening to the steady thrumming beneath Nicole’s skin, and whispers _‘you’re so beautiful’_ until the words lose sense and only the sentiment remains.

It is Waverly too, who drags a hazy Nicole into the bathroom one morning when they have stayed in bed late, Nicole scheduled for an afternoon shift. The water is heaven drifting down their skin, diverging into little channels and deltas around the places where Waverly presses their bodies together, the two of them locked at the lips and chests and thighs.

And it is Waverly who, finally, takes Nicole’s hand and presses both their fingers at the waistband of Nicole’s boxers. She never breaks eye contact as she waits for Nicole’s consent, shaking her head insistently when Nicole gasps out _‘you don’t have to_ ’.

“I _want_ to,” Waverly whispers, voice shaking slightly. “But I need you to show me what _you_ need.”

They take the step together, and Waverly is utterly, speechlessly overwhelmed by the sensation of wet, and warm, oh so soft.

Nicole comes apart quickly, her hips drifting like water and her hand just lightly on top of Waverly’s.

In the moment that Nicole’s back arches off the mattress, Waverly knows that she will never see anything more beautiful.

They lose themselves to each other entirely, muffling cries against hands and pillows and the other’s lips. It is the last barrier broken down, physical intimacy catching pace with the emotional kind and, by the time they give in to sleep in the early hours, Waverly is too spent for any dreams that do not involve the feel of Nicole’s hands and mouth and tongue between her thighs.

 

 

 

 

 

_Things I have learned because of Hamunaptra_

11.   _When she’s not scared a mummy might catch/kill us, Nicole smiles into every kiss_  
12.   __I can do anything I set my mind to__  
13.   ____If this was the only way I would have met Nicole, I wouldn’t change what happened__  
__ 14.   ______I believe I can be brave now__  
____ 15.   ________Nothing is impossible__  
______ 16.   _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ___The universe is bigger, and scarier, than any of us understand__  
________ 17.   ____________Nicole Haught mumbles in her sleep, but she mumbles even more when she is trying to wake up  
____________ 18.   _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ___It is_ _adorable______________.

 

 

 

 

  
Of course, these latter points are not new information to Waverly; she learnt them first in a tiny little tent a few miles out of Kharga. Nonetheless, it is quite the privilege to become accustomed to Nicole Haught sleeping beside her. Waverly knows she is lucky to be alive and to experience this and all of Nicole’s other tiny, beautiful, funny, and even frustrating quirks every day.

Nicole remains the earlier riser out of the two of them, her body clock relentless enough that she usually stirs just before the alarm, and tends to be sufficiently _compos mentis_ to kiss Waverly awake when their phones sound.

But on the rare occasions that Waverly is awake first, there is no better way to start the day than to listen to the tiny groans and half-words Nicole mumbles as she surfaces from sleep.

With more space to manoeuvre now, she always stretches, cat-like, when she wakes up, grumbling incomprehensibly to herself until she has managed to blink the sleep out of her eyes.

Waverly has seen neverending sand dunes and desert sunrises and sweeping, overwhelming riverscapes but there is still no better morning greeting than watching Nicole wrestle her eyes open. She _always_ smiles to see Waverly laying right there beside her, her face as bright as the morning light that steals through the gap in the curtains.

With her red hair and those deep, soulful eyes Nicole will always be the sun to Waverly, even when she is tired and hazy. _Especially_ in those moments, because it is before she fully wakes that she almost looks shocked, as if she is surprised to see that Waverly is really there - as if she can’t believe it is all real.

Waverly can’t quite believe it herself, sometimes.

 

 

 

 

 

Indeed, Nicole does not stop surprising her. She surprises her with hugs from behind, with a pillow fort in her room for an impromptu movie date one night, with soft kisses and strong kisses and the kinds of kisses that make Waverly’s knees buckle.

But one day, Nicole surprises her with something else entirely.

Waverly has been happy - blissfully so - but it is hard to deny that her professional life simply is not keeping up with her personal one. She feels as though she lacks direction, and she drifts about with no sense of how to pursue her career further.

Nicole, of course, is once again the one that finds a practical solution.

She lets herself into the flat one afternoon after her shift, as she is now in the habit of doing. Waverly is in her bedroom reading, much as she was when Nicole found her again that first time. Now, however, there is no uncertainty, no moment where Nicole hovers at the door. Instead, she walks inside, drops her backpack on the floor by the bed, and sits down heavily on the covers beside Waverly.

It is beautifully, disgustingly domestic of her. Waverly loves it.

“Still not using that desk, huh?” Nicole asks with a fond smile. She kisses Waverly sweetly on her temple, trying not to be a distraction, but Waverly’s lips chase her anyway.

“Mmm. Sun’s directly in my face if I sit there at this time. Good day?”

Nicole waits for Waverly to finish noting down her thoughts on her latest reading material. Then, she shrugs and gives the same answer as she has done every day for a week.

“Yeah, fine thanks.”

Simply put, Nicole is not happy at Black Badge anymore, but she downplays it to keep the feelings at bay for now. Waverly understands that impulse - don’t acknowledge it and it’s not real, right? She is worried but she trusts Nicole’s instincts; she will talk about it when she’s ready.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Nicole adds quietly, fishing her phone out of her pocket, “but when you reach a good stopping point, I have something to tell you.”

There is nothing ominous in her voice, but Waverly’s curiosity is notorious now, so she bullet-points the rest of her arguments at warp speed and sets her pen down. She winds her fingers around Nicole’s free hand where it lays between them and brings it to her lips, kissing her knuckles.

“I’m all yours.”

“Good,” Nicole jokes, lips tilting upwards in a smile as she locks her phone and tosses it aside. She takes a deep breath. “Okay. So I haven’t mentioned this yet because I didn’t want to get your hopes up, but now I _can_ mention it and I’m actually kind of nervous. I hope I’ve done the right thing.”

Waverly frowns at Nicole’s doubtful expression. “What is it babe?”

“You remember, after _Imhotep_ attacked the base your stuff was all impounded?” Nicole asks cautiously, stroking her thumb against the back of Waverly’s hand.

Waverly’s frown deepens at the memory, mostly an angry one.

“How could I forget? They said that they had the right to seize our property.”

“They do,” Nicole reminds her. “Black Badge have pretty much every clearance going.”

“Good for them,” Waverly says with a sulky pout which Nicole promptly kisses away.

“Well, I wasn’t entirely, a thousand percent honest about calling in my chit with Lucardo in keeping everyone out of jail. I asked for something else too,” she extracts her hand so that she can lean off the side of the bed and rummage about in her bag, “and I couldn’t make much happen, so don’t get your hopes up - God where the hell is it? - because Lucardo kept pretending she’d have to circumvent some policy that didn’t exist.” Nicole finally straightens up in triumph, having found what she was looking for.

“But after much begging, imploring, and good old fashioned attempts to annoy people into submission, I did get you these.” She holds out a clear, ziplock evidence bag. There is a rectangular patch of paper residue on one outside corner, where some inventory sticker evidently had resisted removal.

Looking down, Waverly feels her mouth drop open as Nicole sets the bag down between them on the bed. Waverly drifts a finger over the plastic where it covers the old, battery-operated digital camera and the haphazard bundle of papers she had used to keep her notes on _Hamunaptra_.

“Nicole, how did you get them to give this up?”

Nicole just smiles enigmatically. “Leaving me in the desert without even sending out a search party is a pretty big scandal and silence can cost a lot.”

Waverly struggles to breathe for a second. It is obvious Nicole is lying.

“I don’t want these if they’re going to get you into trouble.”

“Waves, don’t worry about it. I don’t want to be there anyway, and all I did was speed things up a little. Once they realise we already have them, it’ll be too late anyway.”

Waverly shakes her head, still not convinced. “What do you mean, too late?”

“You’ll already have your PhD proposal by then,” Nicole says, trying to keep a beaming smile under control. “Those archaeology departments aren’t going to turn down all this, are they?”

Waverly feels a lump in her throat. Nicole had risked her livelihood in an instant and without a thought to herself. Waverly almost feels like she doesn’t deserve it.

“You should have asked for something for yourself, something that would make _you_ happy,” she says quietly, unable to meet Nicole’s eye.

Nicole keeps smiling, hooking a finger under Waverly’s chin and urging Waverly to look up at her.

“That’s _exactly_ what I did,” she says.

“You could have left Black Badge though, I know you hate it there now.”

“I will leave if they fire me for this,” Nicole points out, completely unconcerned. “I want to go back to being a cop Waves, and I know they’ll send me off with at least enough of a reference for that, what with the abandoning me thing. You, your dreams, my old job back - that’s really all I want now.”

“But - ”

“There’s nothing that’ll make me undo this,” Nicole says simply. “But if you’re really that worried about it, you can owe me one,” she adds, like she already has a plan in mind.

“Like what?”

“House cat for wherever we go next?” Nicole says, pulling an adorable begging face. “I just really, _really_ want to adopt one and I’m sort of praying you’re not allergic.”

“You’d come with me?” Waverly asks, blindsided at every part of this conversation.

“Didn’t I already tell you that? Where you go, I’ll go - for as long as you want me.”

Waverly struggles not to let the dam of emotion break, pulling Nicole into a hug and then a deep kiss that has them both gasping.

“So you want to? Like, together?” Nicole asks, genuinely unsure before seeing the look on Waverly’s face and allowing herself to be pushed back into the mattress.

 

 

 

 

 

“Just to be clear,” Nicole asks, laughing and trying to regulate her breathing as Waverly crawls up the bed and slumps onto the pillows, “was that a yes?”

Waverly wipes a hand across her mouth before wrestling a cushion out from underneath Nicole’s head. She _thwacks_ it smartly over Nicole’s face.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Waverly says with a laugh, “how many times do you need me to say ‘yes’?”

Nicole’s smile shifts and her hand snakes down towards Waverly’s thigh.

“Good question,” Nicole whispers, teeth scraping at the spot just below Waverly’s ear. “Maybe as many times as I had you _saying_ it yesterday? Or the day before?”

Waverly squirms delightfully under the firm press of Nicole’s body.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

 

 

 

 

 

As it turns out, Nicole’s waking grumbles are a constant, even when they are both unexpectedly disturbed in the dead of night a month later.

She still looks reverently at Waverly, who does not get nearly enough time to appreciate it as she dives for her phone where it rings on the bedside table.

Much has changed as they do battle with a month of extreme planning.

Crucially, they had needed to ascertain where Nicole is qualified to work, and how she could untangle her life from Black Badge. Then they had to cross reference which colleges were close enough to police precincts with vacancies, which seemed to take forever. Waverly decides she might as well be close to her aunt if she is going to be leaving Egypt, which also narrows the field exponentially.

Then there are applications, and prayers that they will be accepted.

Plus they must tell Wynonna and extend a perfectly genuine invite for her to join them, which goes about how they expect:

“What, third wheel it back to a place filled with people I hate - present company excepted - while you two give each other those disgusting moony looks? No thanks babygirl. Much as I appreciate the offer I’ll pass.”

She is, it turns out, already arranging a new trip to Greece and had just been holding back on mentioning it to Waverly, unsure of how she would feel about it.

But of course, this kind of open-ended travel is nothing new for Wynonna and it is what makes her happy.

It is hard for them to be anything but unreasonably excited for each other.

(“And, will you being going _alone_?” Waverly asks when it is just the two of them on a designated sisters’ night in.

Wynonna raises an eyebrow, biting back a wry smile. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“Take it however you wish, Waves.”

“Okay, that’s _definitely_ a ‘no’.)

 

 

 

 

 

This all means that the flat is awash with action and planning, and a pleasant buzz takes over both Waverly and Wynonna.

Wynonna gets her travel plans in place and, eventually, Nicole is the first to hear back on her applications. She gets multiple job offers and, completely unsurprised at Nicole’s success, Waverly feels fit to burst with pride.

Unfortunately, the universities take much longer. There is such a delay, in fact, that Nicole has to beg an extension from two Sheriff’s Offices to give her a while longer to accept or reject the jobs.

But then the phone call comes, unexpected and almost unwelcome given the hour.

Waverly scrabbles to get her phone, blinking against the harsh light of the screen as Nicole groans and rubs her forearm over her eyes.

“Who is it?” she asks, voice thick.

“I don’t know,” Waverly murmurs, looking at the familiar area code with a thrill of worry for Gus. She swipes to answer the call, aware of how sleepy she sounds down the line.

“Hello, is that Miss Earp?” asks an unfamiliar voice.

“Yes, speaking,” Waverly answers, pulling a nonplussed face at Nicole to indicate that she still does not know who it is. She puts the phone on loudspeaker so that Nicole can hear too.

“I’m sorry to call out of hours, it’s a late night in the office,” the man explains.

 _No kidding_ , Nicole mutters and Waverly stifles a laugh.

“My name is Dr Edwards and I’m calling in regards to your PhD application,” he adds, oblivious to Nicole’s comment, and Waverly feels her whole body goes tense. In response, Nicole notices scoots closer and lays a hand on Waverly’s shoulder.

“I have to say Miss Earp, we were impressed. Very, very impressed. We do have a few questions and there will need to be a final, concluding interview but at this stage we’d like to offer you full funding, pending certain conditions.”

Waverly feels her mouth drop open while Nicole gives a silent, celebratory fist pump.

“I - wow. Thank you so much sir,” she feels dumbfounded, and fears she sounds unenthusiastic as a result. So many rejections had left her unprepared for this outcome. “I’m sorry, I think I’m in shock. I don’t know what to say.”

He chuckles. “You’d be surprised how often we get that.” He pauses. “But I take it you’d be interested in progressing to an interview? It’s actually more of an informal discussion about your research, but it’s a box we’ll need to tick.”

“Well, I’m still in Cairo at the moment, but I can fly over given a tiny bit of notice.”

There is a pause and a crackle down the line. “Cairo?”

“Yes, I mentioned it in my application.”

A rustle of papers.

“Yes, yes I see that now. Well I do apologise Miss Earp for disturbing you at, what, three o’clock in the morning?”

“Four thirty,” Waverly corrects with a smile. “But it’s no problem, not when it’s such good news.”

“Well even so I think I ought to let you go,” the man sounds embarrassed. “I will email you the further details and we’ll see if we can’t arrange a video link.”

“Thank you Dr Edwards, I appreciate it. And thank you for the opportunity.” Waverly tries to remember her manners which is a feat, given her own euphoria and the sight of Nicole’s silent celebration next to her.

“Not at all. And Miss Earp?” he pauses, a smile in his voice. “Congratulations. We’re very excited to work with you.”

“Thank you,” Waverly repeats and the call ends with a few polite, cursory well wishes.

Nicole jumps on her pretty much as soon as the line clears, wrestling her into an enthusiastic hug and dropping kisses all over her cheeks.

Waverly laughs and laughs, struggling to contain her excitement.

“You see?” Nicole asks between kisses. “ _You see_ ? You’re amazing and they’re _excited to work with you_. I knew it - I knew it!”

Again, Waverly can barely speak. It does not feel real; not the research grant, not the plans to begin again on a whole new continent, not Nicole - who has been, and remains, so constant and calming and so incredibly supportive.

“This happened because of you, Nicole,” Waverly says, meaning it. Nicole, however, won’t hear of it, won’t entertain the notion that this is because of anything but Waverly’s hard work and passion.

The sky is starting to lighten by the time they calm down a little, snuggling up against the pillows, covers kicked down to the foot of the bed.

“I can’t believe this, it feels like a dream,” Waverly admits, hoping that Nicole knows that Waverly means their relationship too.

“It does,” Nicole agrees, voice so significant that Waverly is sure that, as ever, they are on the same wavelength.

This is terrifying, all of it: the prospect of new jobs and a new home, not to mention the promise they are making to each other by moving together, even without explicitly voicing what that means. But if Waverly has realised one thing it is that they are, all of them, resilient, adaptable, and strong. They have faced down the forces of evil and they can certainly face down the future too, so long as they do it as a team.

“Together?” Waverly asks, wriggling round to look into Nicole’s eyes, searching for an anchor.

As always, Nicole smiles.

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo! there it is!! i know that some bits here were a bit wishy-washy, most of all the fact that all the evidence of Hamunaptra might well hinder Waverly more than help as I'm not sure how many institutions would want to take on research from someone with quite such a flagrant disregard for just,,,involving authorities and official bodies when trying to find an ancient secret city. but hey this is a fic about a resurrected Egyptian priest based off a show about resurrected outlaws so, um, creative license!!! yeah!!!!!...
> 
> really though, the aim was to leave this open-ended. atm, there are no plans to write a sequel but i really just had so much fun in the latter stages of this fic that i want the opportunity to take this elsewhere if inspiration ever hits me again. 
> 
> speaking of, i'm currently trying to fathom my way through a couple of new au ideas and i reaaally want to continue that in-canon series that i promised when in reality i have delivered one (1) ficlet. however, i'm also trying to build up my poetry insta (@holinguespoetry if you'll allow me another little plug) and i want to work on a couple of original ideas bc like,,,the dream is to get good enough to publish a bunch of original gay stuff one day so. however, I'm always lurking around fandom like a bad penny so i'll hopefully have some new stuff up sooner rather than later. 
> 
> anyway enough of that! i have to say thank you again!! like i said, i'm actually a bit emotional that this dumb, silly, wild ride is over!! and i just really want to thank anja for reading over my chapters and listening to me moan, and i also want to thank max, liz, and joey for constantly cheerleading this fic even when i'm horrible at finding time to reply. thank you to all of you who read, and left kudos, thank you especially to those who took the time to regularly leave long comments - it's really what keeps me writing.
> 
> anyway. i think that's that! until next time please look after yourselves.

**Author's Note:**

> oookay so this is just a little way to set the scene and from next chapter onwards, we'll jump right in with waverly and nicole meeting and setting off on their adventure with wynonna in tow. 
> 
> i really hope this was okay, please settle my nerves either with a comment or with some cool chats on twitter (@rositabustiiios) maybe? my usual corresponding picspam can also be found on twitter: https://twitter.com/rositabustiIIos/status/949425065992613891 or on tumblr: www.birositabustillos.tumblr.com/post/169361721058/ 
> 
> (also, final special shoutout to rachel weisz/evy from the mummy for my first major bisexual awakening at age 11ish. thanks rachel, i owe you one).


End file.
